Falling Through Worlds: Into The Fire

Harry's scar had not pained him in almost twenty-three years. And he rather liked it that way. On the other hand, however, he was definitely ageing a lot more than he cared to admit. The number forty made him gag. In all his years at Hogwarts, he had never imagined himself turning twenty, let alone double that. Ron kept pointing out to him that Dumbledore must have been older than snot to try and snap him out of what seemed to be a midlife crisis. But Harry merely replied that Dumbledore had not aged very well at all, which made Ron clamp his mouth shut, being five months or so older than Harry was.

But that didn't mean he hated life or anything like that, god forbid. He was perfectly fine with how things were. Except that it was incredibly boring. He had to slap himself every time he wished a more interesting job would come through for him at the Ministry. Interesting jobs involved rouge Voldemort supporters and dead bodies, and he'd have none of that.

All of his children were in school now, so it had become eerily quite around the house as of late. Ginny was working long hours at St. Mungos, and the Ministry seemed content to only send Harry out on miniscule jobs that frankly, even he felt were beneath him. Who'd have ever thought that the savior of the wizarding world would be chasing around exploding toilets on his working days? Certainly not Harry himself, that was for sure.

But so far today, he was having quite a pleasant afternoon, if he said so himself. McGonagall, who Ron nicely pointed out also must be older than snot by now, had invited them out to the Hogwarts Quiditch pitch to watch the match of Gryffindor against Slytherin. Although, this matter in itself put Harry in a rough position to say the least. He didn't know which team to cheer for.

His youngest child, Lilly Luna Potter was sitting to his right, between himself and Ginny, watching him carefully every time Gryffindor scored a point. His eyes easily caught her smirk when he refrained from any outward cheering for either team. As sly as Hermione, that one, he thought to himself.

Lilly was a Slytherin. And though she did not play for the team herself, her father could see that she had as much house pride as any Slytherin. Too much. He was sometimes vaguely suspicious that she had somehow inherited something from Hermione with the odd looks she gave him now and then. Calculating, all-knowing looks that used to give him the chills when Hermione would stare at him like that. If he hadn't known that it was impossible for her to have any of Hermione's blood, he'd have been worried. As she turned back to concentrating on the game, Harry turned his attention to Ron, who was seated on his other side.

Hugo sat between Ron and Hermione, fiddling with his Gryffindor tie in a distracted manner. Ron's youngest acted as much like Neville had in his earlier years as Lily acted like Hermione. Ron was looking as bemused as Harry felt as to who to cheer for. The redhead's oldest child, Rosie, was the keeper for the Slytherin team. Harry could still remember the tearstained letter she'd sent back to them when she'd been sorted, thinking that her father's joke about disinheritance was serious. But despite being a Slytherin, Rosie's air was very similar to Ron's. Charlie had informed them regularly about how many detentions she'd received for either sassing off to the teachers, or letting lose some of her uncle's old pranks in the corridors. And her keeping skills were equal to Ron's, if not significantly better from her lack of stage-fright.

On the Gryffindor team, the keeper was James Sirius Potter, Harry's oldest. It spurned quite a bit of cousin rivalry among the school if Harry said so himself. One of the Beaters was his youngest nephew, only a first year, but bursting with the same talent his father had, the same sort of talent that had gotten Harry onto the team as a fist year. Fred Weasley was scrawny as hell, but Harry had no doubt that he'd grow into both his father's, and his deceased uncle's and namesake's shoes in a few years time. It reminded him of the old saying that Fred and George had ground into him years ago.

"There's always a Weasley on the team, Harry."

It made Harry's heart hurt to think about them, even now, so he turned his attention to the rest of the team instead. The lead Chaser for Gryffindor was his middle child, Albus Severus Potter, overflowing with the talent his mother had won countless games with. It had come as a shock to him that neither of his children wanted to pick up his old spot as Seeker, even though Albus had tried to explain it to him multiple times in the last two years.

"Dad, I suck at Seeking, believe me, I tried. And besides, you've never seen our Seeker fly. Scorp is . . . Oh, for goodness sakes, just come to the next match and you'll see what I mean."

So here he was, watching the Gryffindor seeker with something akin to flat out awe. He'd seen clips of himself flying before, in recordings on old Omnoculars, or in pictures in the newspaper. There was nothing graceful about the way he flew at all. It was more like an imminent plummet towards certain death that just barely managed to keep him alive most days. To say that Scorpius Malfoy had more talent than him was an understatement to say the least.

Scorpius was the very image of his father, Draco. In personality and in flight. Harry had always admired Draco's much more graceful way of handling the broom, though he'd never admitted it, barely even to himself. Scorpius was double what his father had been. It was almost like watching a solo dance in the sky.

Harry had no doubt in his mind that Draco had received quite a shock when he'd heard that his only child was in Gryffindor. And as far as he'd known, Scorpius hadn't told his father until Christmas break. He himself could clearly remember the number of owls he'd received from Albus about the matter, one a day nearly, until he'd had to promise that Scorpius would have a place to stay if his father refused to see him again. And much to Harry's own surprise, Draco Malfoy had accepted the matter without so much as a yell. A few snide remarks here and there, but nothing more.

Albus and Scorpius bickered as he and Draco had done in their school days, insults constantly flying, and more often than not, fists too. But it was Harry who first noticed that they way they fought was much closer to the level that Hermione and Ron had fought on years ago. (Sometimes these days too, but he'd rather die than mention that to them.) He wasn't sure what he'd do if he one day had to flat out explain to Draco that there would be no Malfoy grandchildren unless he spawned another child.

The raven haired man turned his attention back to the sky again, where Scorpius was continuing his dance of searching for the snitch. Sometimes, Harry had to wonder if his youngest son was lying when he said that he'd have done no good as a Seeker. The way he partnered as a lookout with Scorpius took Harry's breath away. He remembered how hard it was to keep a lookout for where the rest of his team was, let alone a stray bludger when you had your eyes scouring for the snitch. Albus filled in for Scorpius's blind spots, ducking down to his side whenever he was not needed by his team, diving side by side with him whenever a bludger or a confused Slytherin chaser headed their way.

Harry couldn't recall when he noticed that something was off. Maybe it was the way that Fred suddenly looked confused as a bludger actually dodged his Beater's bat. Or maybe it was the way that Albus suddenly swerved away from the Slytherin goal posts, dropping the quaffle on purpose, diving towards Scorpius like a raging bullet. And maybe, it was the startled gasp of Draco Malfoy behind him as everything suddenly went horribly wrong in every way possible. The bludger hurtled straight at Albus as he dived in front of Scorpius, knocking him backwards into the blond, sending them both tumbling off their brooms to the ground far below.

Ginny screamed, Ron held his hands to his mouth in horror, and Draco was only stopped from leaping over all the seats by Harry, who shoved him to the ground and apparated on the spot. He knew very well that apparation inside Hogwarts grounds was impossible. But hadn't Dumbledore always told him that "Bending the rules is necessary if lives are at stake?"

He reappeared in the air, grabbing onto both boys. He tried to dissaparate as he caught them, the ground looming close beneath them. But it seemed as though his magic was suddenly drained. Instead, he muttered a wordless, wandless Wingarduim Leviosa, more of a silent prayer than a spell, and sighed with relief as their weight drifted above him, just before he crashed with a sickening thud to the ground.

His world grew dark.

Harry's head was throbbing painfully as he opened his eyes, and he groaned as he found himself lying face down on cold stone bricks. There was a drip of blood trickling out of his mouth from where he'd apparently bitten his lip, but other than that, he couldn't find anything else wrong with him. He blinked and tried his best to see anything familiar about him, assuming that he was either at St. Mungos or in Madame Pomfrey's infirmary after such a dangerous stunt. He realized two things after a moment. One - he was not in either of those places at all. Two- he had no idea where his glasses were.

Glasses now, panic later, he thought to himself, beginning to skim his hand across dirty and rather damp bricks in search of his glasses. In all this time, he really should have thought to get contacts, with how much losing his glasses inconvenienced him in a fight. But then again, the only thing he fought these days were cursed toilets. He grinned as his fingers made contact with the thin metal of his glasses, and he pulled them over to him and set them on his nose with a sigh of relief.

Relief that was ultimately short lived. He had no idea where he was, now that he'd had a proper look around. As far as he could tell, he was crouched in the middle of a stone alleyway; trashcans piled high and spilling over on either side of him. In the distance, he could see the faint light of a fire, and he shivered. Even from here, he could tell that it was not the natural, homely sort of fire. It was a fire meant for destruction. He covered his ears and closed his eyes as he heard a scream not far off, getting the sinking, but familiar feeling that he was dreaming. Yes, that must be it. A dream from the war, years and years ago. This was not something that was happening right now, in the waking world. It was impossible. He did not have true dreams anymore.

Harry shivered again, and his eyes snapped open, his hands falling away from his ears as a wave of dread washed over him. With a fire like that nearby, he shouldn't feel so achingly cold. Well, with his age, maybe a little. But he wasn't that old. And as his hands fell to his sides again, he nearly jumped out of his skin.

Those were not his hands. They were too small, too . . . Gangly, to be his hands. Plus, they were significantly more callused and less scarred. He raised a hand up to his forehead, brushing dark bangs aside to run his fingers over the lightning shaped scar. Scar, check. Apparently he was still Harry. At least, as far as he could tell, he was. He peered at the foggy, but reflective surface of the nearest trashcan, just barely able to make out dark unruly hair and emerald eyes hidden beneath thick glasses. Yup, still Harry.

Standing up, he was displeased to see that he'd shrunk. His clothes, though he couldn't remember ever owning such clothes, fit nicely. But he could tell that he was at least four inches shorter than he remembered being an hour ago. The only coherent thought he could come up with at the moment was that this was not good. Not good at all.

His first theory was a time trip. Hermione had explained them to him often enough. Something about traveling through time without the use of a Time Turner. A skill that ran in families. But he didn't recall anything in her explanation about becoming younger because of such a thing, as he assumed he had done. Oh, how he wished he'd never wished for something interesting to happen.

He never had time to think of a second theory, as he shivered with cold again, an awful realization forming in his mind. Harry scrambled to his feet, patting his pockets and groaning in horror as his suspicions, at least one of them, were confirmed. His wand was gone. The second of his suspicions was confirmed as the walls around him began to crackle as a light layer of frost spread across them from the far end of the alleyway.

Harry was about to turn tail and run, the icy breath of Dementors ghosting down the alley. He had turned and taken half a step when the rapid pounding of feet behind him told him that the Dementors were chasing someone. He sighed to himself how he knew he'd feel eternally guilty if he let someone die because he'd run like a coward, so he turned back around.

A boy who couldn't have been more than sixteen or seventeen came barreling around the corner, breathing hard, grey eyes wild with fear beneath the stray golden brown bangs that hung in front of them. He appeared not to see Harry, and gasped in surprise as he smacked right into them, knocking them both down against a trashcan in a flurry of tangled limbs and waste as the bin toppled over on top of them. He growled in what Harry recognized as a mixture of annoyance and frustration, a light whimper of fear mixed into it as their breath suddenly became visible. The boy stumbled to his feet, wiping trash off of his already filthy clothes, "Oh hell, oh hell. Are you sodding insane? Standing in the middle of the alley there? Now I'm done for you crazy git!"

Harry stared up at him in a mixture of disbelief and recognition. The hair color was distinctly different, but he could see the platinum blond at its roots, giving away that it was a bad dye job. But the eyes, the voice, and that snide tone were all too familiar. "Malfoy?" he whispered, head spinning.

The boy whirled around to look at him, startled, and afraid, "Holy . . . How the hell do you know my name?!" He grabbed the front of Harry's shirt, pulling him to his feet and out of the trash. A wand was suddenly at his throat, demanding an answer even as their breath visibly mingled together and the lights in the apartments overhead flickered on and off, a warning that the Dementors would be on them any second. "Answer me you bloody prick!" Draco Malfoy screamed, hysteria clear in his voice, his eyes darting to the end of the alleyway. "You're one of The Dark Lord's men, aren't you? Well, one less in a moment I suppose."

"The Dark-" Harry cut himself off with a cry of surprise, "You mean Volde-"

"Shit! Don't say his name!" Draco's hand was over Harry's half open mouth in an instant. His silver-gray eyes flickered over to the end of the alleyway once more, widening as a dark form slipped around the corner. "Oh . . . Shit." He loosened his grip on Harry, grabbing his wrist instead, "We're going to run now, got it?"
"Huh?"

"Just shut up and run if you don't want to be a soulless idiot!" Draco yelled, dragging him headlong down the alleyway. They dashed around the corner, Harry watching with dread as the walls around them creaked as frost licked its way across the stones. He twisted his hand so that he gripped Draco's wrist as well, making sure that they wouldn't get separated, the blond didn't object, pulling him along as they ran. They skidded through a puddle, nearly losing their footing as the stones became slick with moss and water.

"Why are you helping me?" he panted as they charged through a barricade of trashcans, knocking them aside and slipping on old food and paper.

"Because only a fool would try and utter The Dark Lord's name!" Draco huffed beside him, darting around another corner. "And as it stands, even fools can be useful to us." He stopped short, sucking in a terrified breath as they nearly smacked into a dead-end. "Except that we are apparently about to die," he muttered to himself, "Goodbye soul."

Harry's eyes searched frantically for a door, a ladder, anything that could get them though this wall. He held his breath as a Dementor drifted lazily around the corner, looking as if it hadn't been chasing them at all. "Malfoy, give me your wand," he whispered, their backs pressed against the stone wall.

"Hell no. I don't even know you!"

Harry paused, the statement striking him as odd, but he filed it away for later, "Do you want to live or not, Malfoy?" The wand was shakily pressed into his hand, his other, he still realized, gripping Draco's wrist as if it was a lifeline. The Dementor floated closer, and Harry could hear Draco's groan of fear as it reached out a skeletal hand towards them. Think happy thoughts, think happy thoughts, think happy thoughts, think happy thoughts . . .

He squeezed Draco's wrist as he noticed the boy's eyes sliding closed, half out of fear, half from the Dementors beginning to get to him as another emerged from around the corner. Harry drew in a shaky breath, trying to keep his mind focused. It had been years since he'd done the spell.

Ginny was running towards him, a blazing determined look on her face-

Not good enough.

"I'm you're godfather, Harry."

No, not good enough.

A door falling to the floor of a rotted, rundown old cabin, a hulking shadow filling the space it had once occupied.

"You're a wizard, Harry. And a damn good one at that, if y'er mum and da are anthin' to go by."

Harry raised the wand, eyes set and straightforward, squeezing Draco's wrist again. He had no reason to try and comfort the other, really. But somehow, he felt that this was not the Draco Malfoy he knew. So he raised Malfoy's wand, a wand he'd held before. In fact, the wand he'd used to defeat Voldemort. It was that thought that sent a spark of determination through him as he cast the spell.

"Expecto Patronum!"

A silver stag erupted from the wand tip, rearing its head fiercely and charging towards the Dementors, hooves flailing threateningly in the air. The dark specters recoiled and shrank back, a sound coming from them that could only be described as screaming as the stag ripped through them, pushing them away from its master. Harry caught Draco around the back as he sunk to the ground, eyes flickering open in astonishment.

"What is that?" the blond whispered, fingers tangling into Harry's robes as he stared at the silvery stag wide-eyed. "How did you . . ."

"Patronus charm," Harry mumbled, watching as the dementors fled in wake of the silver light. "You've never heard of it?"

"If I had known there was a way to just make them leave, I wouldn't have been running," Draco said sarcastically, sitting up, Harry's hand still steadying him. He gave the other a quick, uncertain glance, letting go of Harry's robes, "Who are you?"

Harry raised a confused eyebrow. If he really had tripped through time, then shouldn't Malfoy recognize him? "Harry Potter," he said slowly, trying to decide if this was all some trick of Malfoys.

To his utter surprise, Draco laughed, "Oh, that's rich. Really mate, if you're going to use a fake name, pick one that's actually believable," the blond giggled, rolling on the ground.

The Gryffindor huffed, slightly offended, "But I am! Look!" He pushed his wayward bangs up, revealing the lightning shaped scar above his eyes, "See?"

Malfoy stared at him a moment, still on the verge of another fit of laughter, "Woohoo," he mocked, "You have a funny scar. What does that prove?"
"That I'm Harry Potter!" Harry said in exasperation, starting to become a more than a little panicked. He'd never seen any wizard who didn't know who he was. And even though he'd always wished it was the opposite, now that it was, he was alarmed.

Draco smirked at him in the air that he had while they were still in school, the cold smile of someone looking at an idiot. In strange way, that made Harry feel a bit calmer. "Either you're really, really confused," Draco started, his voice turning serious, "Or you're mental, period. Everyone knows that The Dark Lord killed the Potters years ago."

Harry couldn't breathe, "Wh-what?"
"Yeah," Draco said nonchalantly, "All dead. James, Lily, and Harry. Killed by the Avada Kedavra on Halloween sixteen years ago." He rubbed the back of his neck, looking thoughtful, "Apparently there was this prophecy about the baby, Harry. But The Dark Lord killed him, so I guess we'll never know what would have happened. Bloody sucks though, that. Thinking that maybe we could have been free of this mess ages ago if that baby had grown up." He shrugged, "But there's no point in wishing now, is there." His gray eyes found Harry again, and he grabbed the other by the shoulder, seeing the shocked look on his face, "Hey, are you all right?"
"Draco . . ." Harry whispered, "Where are we?"

"Muggle London," Malfoy said easily, his gaze growing concerned.

"And what year is it?"

"1997," Draco said slowly, "Why? Forget to look at a paper recently?" He gasped in shock as Harry merely stared at him, and fainted dead away.

RANDOM AUTHOR RAMBLE

Another piece of insane randomness. =_= I don't know why, okay? Because I'm sick and had a spur of the moment crack helping of HP fanfiction? I read probably thirty in the last two days. And not oneshots either, mind you. Multichapters. Some of which I was horrified to find uncompleted. Including All The Proud Shall Be and Catharsis. D:

I am greatly displeased. *Snape face*

Anywho . . . So I've been wanting to write something where Harry stumbles into an alternate reality for ages. And after reading all that fanfiction, I've been saying 'ages' a lot. :p So I think I'll continue this, sooner or later. If I have people who REVIEW that is. *stares* because I have big plans for this shizzle. BIG plans. Though it will be very dark at some points. Many points, I lied. What would you expect from a world where Harry never defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named as a baby? Draco's involvement can be explained. Later. :D

But don't you think that Scorpius and Albus make a cute pair? I love it.