I just had to do it when this idea struck me :( It shouldn't mess up my ES schedule though, of which the next chapter should come out before my midterms!
Description: Infinite realities, twisting and turning, entwining themselves. Voldemort or Dumbledore? The slightest change can destroy everything, and set the future on a completely different path. When Harry Potter makes a heartfelt wish during a near-death experience, he finds himself falling through each world, destined for an eternity without an identity, until he can once again find his home. Will Harry be able to survive the endless loop without crossing over the brink of insanity? Will Harry ever again return to his own world, and if he does, will he find himself yearning for a world not his own? SSHP main pairing
Promenade Ch. 1- Whose Mind?
However he was expecting to die, it wasn't like this. It was his birthday. He had been starving away on the streets for about a month now, after the Dursleys abandoned him, beaten half to death, behind a dumpster in one of the more dangerous districts of London.
As soon as Harry was in the door of Number 4, Privet Drive for the start of his summer, Vernon had shoved him up to his bedroom, where he was tied to the bed and tortured. Apparently Vernon had thought that his daily beatings weren't enough that day, and had done some research into more creative, painful methods of forcing somebody into submission.
Harry had long since learned how to tune out the pain, to drift off into a world of incoherence while being beaten. This time, it hadn't worked. The pain of a knife carving degrading words into him was no stranger to Harry, but this time, Dursley went further. The small kitchen knife that was usually used against him had been replaced with a large meat cleaver, slightly blunt and rusted on the edges. Fresh whip marks littering his body, an only semi-conscious Harry watched in horror as Dursley raised the cleaver high into the air, and brought it swooping down.
'Please let me survive this experience' Harry thought desperately only moments before the cleaver fell. A shooting star passed overhead, and Harry's mind went completely blank in white-hot agony. His eyes glassy, he stared in morbid fascination at the blade, embedded deep in his thigh. He watched unresponsively as Vernon pulled the cleaver out with one swift tug, widening the wound even more. Aunt Petunia entered the room, impassively cleaning the blade and handing her husband a large bandage. He could not move as the man pulled off his clothes and sloppily wound the bandage around the wound tight enough to hold his upper thigh to the nearly amputated lower half of his leg, nor could he move when the man roughly yanked a pair of large jeans over his legs, and a baggy sweater over his head.
The man had picked him up and walked into the garage, which, Harry supposed, had been installed while he was at school. He was thrown into the car, limply hanging off the side of the seat.
"Right yourself, boy." Uncle Vernon had said, "Don't want anybody getting suspicious, do we?" At that point, Harry had made the interesting discovery which had attributed to his survival during his month on the streets. By calling on his magic, he was able to suppress the pain to a manageable degree. Harry had immediately pulled himself up and moved so that he was leaning against the window. Apparently Uncle Vernon had found his position satisfactory, because he immediately opened the garage door and sped out of Little Whinging.
After his first night on the streets, in which he had nearly been killed twice, Harry knew that he could not survive without being able to walk. Forcing all of his magic into his injured leg and fashioning a makeshift crutch out of lead he had found outside of a small carpenter's shop in the alley he had been found in. For the next few weeks he had hobbled around, eating out of the dumpsters and staying away from people in general. The few times that he had tried to beg food from the few shops around the area, he had been chased away. The first time Harry's bandage unraveled, a few days after he was abandoned, he had been disgusted by the hanging appendage. The cleaver had messily cut through the bone, leaving the leg hanging on by only the strong muscles beneath his leg, and seemed to have left some infection behind as well. He had quickly re-wrapped the bandage around his leg, and set off to look for a hospital or clinic in the area. After a few days of looking, he had found that there were none. The Dursleys had done their research in looking for a suitable place to inevitably become his grave.
This all led up to why Harry was surprised at his method of death. Before the summer, he would've thought that he'd die by Voldemort's hand, if at all. After being abandoned, he had no doubt that he would die from either the infection in his leg or from starvation. He never thought that he would find himself as a hostage.
He had been hobbling along on the side of the road when a man had run up and grabbed him. A few policemen had quickly come into sight, and Harry had felt cold metal pressed up against his forehead. He didn't have to look to tell that it was a gun.
The gun trembled where it rested against his head, the man's hand shaking.
"Don't do anything rash." One of the policemen said. The presence of the policemen calmed Harry. The policemen wouldn't be foolish enough to do something that would make the criminal pull the trigger. The other policeman took a step forward.
"Hey! I'll kill the kid if you move!" the criminal shouted. The first policeman gave the second an odd look.
"Don't move, Hayes. We don't want the kid to get hurt." he said. The second policeman didn't listen.
"It's obvious that the kid's with him, dude. Look at the kid, he's completely calm! They probably do this all the time. Father-son duo, most likely." As to emphasize his point, the policeman walked forward and pulled out a gun. Harry distinctly heard a shot; where it came from, he couldn't tell.
Now, Survive.
Harry felt himself floating in a pool of water. He was completely at peace, surrounded by the deep blue of the ocean. As he slowly woke up, he looked for the surface. Finding none in sight, he panicked, opening his mouth in a distinct "O" shape and trying desperately to breathe. The previously comforting blue waters turned into a prison. There was no up or down; everything ended in abyss. He surged forward, and the mysterious haven shattered into tiny shards of glass, going on as far as he could see. He felt himself falling, the glass raining down from above him. A single shard reached him, and fell, directly on top of his scar.
Harry awoke with a gasp, the blindingly white ceiling forcing itself into his vision. Ah, the Hospital Wing. Had a wizard found him? The last thing he remembered was being held hostage, then his weird dream. Curiously, he tried to move his right leg, the one which had been nearly hanging off in his last memory. He was pleased to find that it functioned perfectly, and was back in one piece. He had survived!
"Are you awake?" Harry frowned. The voice was not one he recognized—where was Madame Pomfrey? He fumbled for his glasses, drawing back in shock as a warm hand pulled his away.
"Glasses?" he rasped out, his voice oddly rusty.
"I'm sorry, but we can't let you use them." the strange woman replied, "Miss Redford, would you bring the contact lenses over here?" A blurry pink figure approached and handed the woman a small lens case. "Hold still for a second, okay child?" The woman carefully inserted each clear lens into his eyes.
Harry surveyed the room with horror. He was not in the Hospital Wing, rather, he was in a white, padded room, lying on a soft mattress which stuck out from the floor, not another thing in sight.
"Can you tell me your name?" The woman looked at him expectantly. He breathed a sigh of relief. This was a muggle hospital; he must've been taken by the two policemen.
"Harry Potter" he replied, his voice starting to return to normal.
"Good." she wrote something down on a sheet. "Age?"
"Sixteen."
"Excellent. Could you tell me where you are?" He stared at her. He had never been there before, how would he know?
"I dunno. I've never been here before." he replied honestly. She frowned.
"Okay, you're exhibiting some mild memory loss. Don't worry, that's normal when you go through shock treatment. The memories should come back gradually over time." He nodded silently. Shock treatment?!
The woman went over to the girl in a pink nurse's uniform, giving her the clipboard and sending her off.
"Now, Harry. I need to know something." she sat beside him once again. "Are you a wizard?"
Harry smiled as the woman secured his survival. "Are you a witch? Do you think you could contact Dumbledore for me? I need to get to Hogwarts as soon as possible. My aunt and uncle abandoned me, and Hogwarts is the only other place with strong enough wards to protect me!" he whispered excitedly. The woman's eyes darkened.
"The treatment failed again." she muttered to herself, before addressing Harry, "Harry, magic is not real. You were brought to us five years ago by your aunt and uncle, when you carved that scar into your forehead, believing that you were some sort of Chosen thing. You've been in and out of here ever since, while the stories you make up bring harm to yourself and those around you. This time, you've been checked in for good.
Harry couldn't believe what he was hearing. Magic was not real?!