AU: After Voldemort kills him in the Forbidden Forest, Harry wakes up in the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts — he is a Fifth Year and living with his godfather. Bellatrix Lestrange has escaped from Azkaban, Harry's one and only best friend is Hermione, and Harry must help Dumbledore destroy the Horcruxes before Voldemort can rise again.
Chapter One
Here and there
Harry Potter could hear murmuring voices. He was lying on his back somewhere soft, and felt extremely comfortable in a cocoon of blankets. He could not make out what the voices were saying, but he didn't expect to. He had heard those voices before, just behind the veil — they were waiting for him, Luna had said — and now Harry had come to greet them at last.
"Where are my parents?" Harry asked expectantly upon opening his eyes, smiling slightly at the sight of his godfather. Sirius looked much more solid than he had in the forest, just moments ago. Receiving no answer, Harry looked around and felt his chest constrict at the sight that met his eyes. Hermione was perched by his bedside, her eyes filled with concern. Had she died as well, then? She must have done, Harry thought, for there was one thing of which he was certain: he was dead. Utterly and purposefully defenseless, Harry had let Voldemort take his life with one fatal flick of the wand. Harry had heard the terrible sound of death speeding toward him, but once it hit he found that Sirius was right: Dying didn't hurt a bit. Harry was thoroughly unsurprised to find Sirius waiting for him on the other side of the veil, so to speak. But why was Hermione there? How could she have died, with all the Death Eaters surrounding his body in the forest and her — safe, he had thought — in the Great Hall?
"Harry…" Sirius began. "Your parents are dead." He sat down on the bed next to Harry, exchanging a rapid look with Hermione. Harry could not help but laugh, causing Hermione to jump slightly in her chair.
"Well, yeah. Of course they are," Harry looked at Sirius incredulously. "So are you. But you aren't," Harry turned to Hermione suddenly, "or weren't, anyway. What happened?" Harry's head was spinning as he pictured Hermione holding Ginny in the Great Hall — what could have possibly happened? What danger had he failed to foresee?
"Nothing happened to me, Harry," Hermione said softly. Her eyes were welling up with tears, and she looked simultaneously startled and concerned. "You fell off your broomstick. You've been out for nearly two days." His broomstick? His Firebolt had fallen into oblivion almost a year ago.
"What do you mean, 'I've been out'?" Harry demanded, now uncertain of his state of being. Fully taking in his surroundings for the first time, Harry realized he was in the Hospital Wing. It was empty — but for him, Hermione, and Sirius —and it showed no signs of having recently serviced battle-torn witches and wizards. Now that he looked properly, Sirius did not look at all like the echo who had walked him through the forest. He was older, and without the carefree smile. And Hermione, who looked as confused as Harry felt, did not seem like the Hermione he had recently left. Her hair, if not necessarily tame, was certainly less bushy than he was used to of late. Before Hermione could answer, Sirius took Harry's hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.
"You're fine, Harry," he said soothingly, quite as though he was talking to an insane person. "Everything's fine. Madam Pomfrey will have you fixed up in no time." Sirius felt Harry's forehead, and Harry closed his eyes for a moment, drinking in the gesture. It was so… parental.
"Wait…" Harry leaned back slightly and looked Sirius in the eyes. They did not have that horrible sunken look Harry associated with his godfather's time in Azkaban, but nor did they have the cheery glint of Sirius's youth. "What — what's going on?" Harry was not quite sure how to frame the question without sounding as panicked and ridiculous as he felt.
"The dementors came too close to the Quidditch pitch during the game, and you sort of… well, you fainted again, Harry," Hermione explained in a shaky voice, passing over the confused pronouncement that she wasn't dead. "Dumbledore was really angry. I've never seen him like that before. He ran onto the field as you fell, waved his wand, and you sort of slowed down before you hit the ground. Then he whirled his wand at the dementors. Shot silver stuff at them. They left the stadium right away…. I looked up the spell, and I think he used the Patronus Charm. I think you should learn it, Harry. It's really complicated magic, but — "
"Hermione," Harry interrupted. "I can make a Patronus. And, wait… what? Dumbledore? But how could he have done? He's…" Harry couldn't complete the sentence, or even the thought. His mind was swirling with flashes of green light, the horrible image of Albus Dumbledore seemingly frozen in the air as he was thrown from the tower, and Sirius falling… and falling… But he, Harry, had died as well. Harry knew, though he did not know how he knew, that he was gone from the world. Yet he was equally certain that he was here, which, Harry reasoned, meant that this was not the world. Sirius felt Harry's forehead once again, apparently convinced that Harry was suffering from fever delusions.
"Do you think his brain's addled?" Hermione half-whispered to Sirius, quite as though Harry was not there.
"My brain isn't addled!" Harry said hotly. "But this doesn't make any sense! Quidditch — the dementors — that was Third Year. You were still in hiding," he gestured to Sirius, "oh, no… I guess you were at the game, or Padfoot was," Harry tried to explain without knowing exactly what he was explaining. Was this his life flashing before his eyes? But it hadn't happened this way, thought Harry, so it couldn't be. Harry could feel his heart pounding, and then he realized — he had a heartbeat. He turned to Sirius, whose chest was rising and falling. He was — "Are you alive?"
Sirius did not answer right away, but as soon as the question was out of Harry's mouth, he had no doubt it was true. Harry felt as though a great, gaping hole in his chest — one that had been residing there for so long that Harry rarely took any notice of it anymore — had been suddenly filled. In that instant, Harry did not care where he was. The sense of bewilderment and panic that seemed as though it would overtake him a moment ago was gone. Sirius was there, inches from him, as solid and opaque as can be. He was not a ghost, not an echo, not a spirit… he was just Sirius. Without warning, Harry lurched forward and threw his arms around Sirius, holding him in what Harry hoped was a very loving sort of death grip.
"Sirius, I'm so sorry…" The words poured from his mouth, as though Harry had been saying them over and over again in his subconscious for months… maybe even years. "It was my fault, it was all my fault — everything… I should have learned Occlumency — or… or… the mirror." Harry felt a familiar pang at the thought, and suspected that if Hermione had any idea what he was talking about, she might use this moment to say I told you so, but she did not. "I never meant for it to happen — I was just trying to… I thought you were…" Harry could hear a pleading note to his voice. Sirius held Harry in a fierce hug, and began to rub his back slowly.
"Harry," he began, again with a bedside manner more suitable for the Janus Thickey Ward at St. Mungo's, "you haven't done anything; nothing happened; we're all fine." Harry did not respond, but shook his head mutely into Sirius's chest. He did not pull away for fear that Sirius and Hermione would see the tears he could feel burning in his eyes, threatening to fall despite Harry's best efforts. Eventually slackening his grip, Harry fell backwards and leaned against the headboard. He suddenly felt exhausted.
"I don't understand," said Harry simply. And it was true; He was at a complete loss as to what was going on, where he was, where he had been, and… pretty much everything. "You said Dumbledore is alive?" Harry asked Hermione. "We have to talk to him, he'll know what's going on." Harry started to get up, but Sirius gently restrained him.
"We can talk to Dumbledore once you've had some rest, Harry. I think if you just get some sleep — "
"I don't need sleep! I need to know what's going on!" said Harry, slightly annoyed at Sirius, who he thought would have been a bit keener to get to the bottom of the situation. "The last thing I remember is Voldemort using Avada Kedavra on me in the forest, and then I woke up here." Harry paused. "This… this isn't my life, or something. This isn't right."
"Of course it is, Harry," said Hermione. "You must be in shock or something. I mean, you know us, don't you? You're just… a bit mixed-up at the moment."
"The dementors must have made you see Voldemort," Sirius offered by way of explanation. "He can't have cursed you, Harry, he hasn't got a body."
"Hasn't he?" Harry interjected in surprise. "Wait, is this Third Year? A memory, or…" Harry trailed off. "Is he not back?"
"We're in Fifth Year, Harry," Hermione replied, as though explaining something to a very small child. "And we stopped Voldemort from getting the sorcerer's stone; He never came back."
"After the Triwizard Tournament?" Harry prompted. Hermione and Sirius shook their heads. The thought suddenly hit Harry that if the dementors were here, surely they would be looking for Sirius. And Sirius was just sitting there! Harry jumped out of bed, causing Sirius to fall off. "What are you doing? You can't just sit here if the dementors are everywhere! Someone's going to see you!" Harry yanked at Sirius's sleeve, thinking that if they could make it to the Room of Requirement he could hide Sirius until it was safe to smuggle him out of the castle. He was not going to let anything happen to Sirius again — not in this world, too… wherever and whatever it was.
Sirius, who had apparently been expecting Harry to do something crazy, reached out and held him fast. "The dementors aren't here for me, Harry, or for you. And the staff already knows I'm here; Dumbledore owled as soon as you fell. Everything is okay." Sirius said the last sentence slowly, emphasizing each word. Harry wondered if Sirius thought that repeating this statement would make it true.
"Then who?" asked Harry.
"Bellatrix Lestrange," Hermione said matter-of-factly. "That escaped Death Eater." Harry saw Sirius flinch as Hermione said the name, and then go pale. But Sirius was not looking at Hermione when the blood drained from his face — he was looking at Harry. Harry knew that his hatred — that feeling of deepest loathing that came from the pit of his stomach and made his every muscle tense — was written all over him. Harry almost hissed as he asked, "She's here?" He suddenly whipped round, half expecting Bellatrix to be framed in the doorway, wand at the ready. Harry looked desperately for his own wand. He needed to go — he needed to get her, to stop her.
"She's not here, Harry!" Sirius said urgently, seeing the red glint in his godson's eyes. "You've just fallen off your broom! Voldemort is not here," Sirius continued, now speaking slowly and deliberately, with a quiet force that reminded Harry of Dumbledore. "You are not dead. I am not dead. Hermione is not dead."
"Your parents are," Hermione added uselessly. Sirius shot her a look. Though Harry knew that Sirius was not entirely right, and something beyond his comprehension was clearly going on, he nevertheless found comfort in his godfather's words. Moments later, Harry heard a door open behind him and Madam Pomfrey came bustling in.
"You're up! Wonderful, wonderful," she said, pulling back the curtain and approaching Harry's bedside. "I was beginning to think the potion wasn't working. How do you feel?" she asked, pushing back Harry's hair and feeling his forehead.
"Fine," said Harry honestly. He certainly didn't feel as though he'd just fallen fifty feet from a broomstick — a sensation he well remembered, and was in no hurry to experience again. He was, however, extremely confused — certain he had died, but equally certain that he was now alive. "Sirius, we need to talk to Dumbledore, please," Harry said urgently. If there was a Dumbledore here — wherever here was — Harry was certain that he would know what had happed, that his knowledge would extend to any realm.
"I hardly think," Madam Pomfrey said disapprovingly, "that you should be overexerting yourself like that just now." But Harry wasn't listening, for he was looking hard at Sirius, willing him to believe that he, Harry, was not confunded or crazy.
"No, it's fine," Sirius said to Madam Pomfrey. "I'll take him up. No overexertion at all, I promise, he'll barely exert." Sirius winked and Harry grinned at him. "Let's go, kid." Harry stood up and walked to the door with Sirius, who put his arm around Harry and gave a short squeeze.
