Summary: How different would things have been if Grindelwald hadn't been defeated? How different would everything be, if Harry was born two years early? Would things go the same way? Some things, no matter how much you change, remain the same. No matter what you do. Your destiny may be forged out on a different path but you will remain inherently the same person.

(Or a story where Harry grows up as the elder brother to those Winchester kids before he is snatched away by the Wizarding World and forced to become a part of the huge political power play being fought between the Dark and Light Lords. Everyone is out for their own gain and innocence has no play in this game.)

Chapter 0

Harry doesn't realize how much force he was using to clench his fists until he relaxes them, ignoring the blood throbbing through his head, pounding and transforming into a sharp ache digging at his temples. He glances at his blood welling up, under the crescent marks and feels his irritation swell some more.

A long buried hurt and disgust fills him as he stares at the blood slowly making its way down his palm.

(Tainted) A snide voice whispers in his head. Impure. Valuable. Powerful. Useless.

The sound of the soft pitter-patter of the drops on the floor distracts him. He stares down numbly at the one spot where his blood was darkening the floor. In the low light, it looks black, absolutely black.

A soft smile stretches his lips. He vaguely staggers on his feet, the exhaustion and the headache catching up with him. He had gotten what he had needed in the end. Despite all his qualms about using the other demon possessed girl, he had achieved what he had set out to do.

It was fair time to end this anyway. After all, he had ended up on this earth as some sort of mistake. He had been that one surprising, overlooked, unexpected variable that was not supposed to exist. His destiny was not even supposed to be his. Maybe now, it was high time that he bade his farewell.

He breathes in silently, mouthing along the words and starts limping over to the lying on the ground. He counts his steps silently, listening to the rustling his shoes make. He's not worried about the girl, there's almost no chance she'd be awake anyway.

One

Plop. His blood drips down, making soft sounds, and cutting the air around him, almost in tandem to his harsh breaths.

(Harry-Harry, where did you go?)

Two

He staggers, the voice echoing in his head so distinctly that he almost whips his head around to check for his father behind him.

(No Harry, you are not to ever leave your brothers, am I clear? No matter what, you have to stay and look after them)

Three

(Stand up straighter-keep your leg tensed, not like that. That will make you cramp while you are running)

Four

(You will always be our son. You will always be family. Mary saw it and I will always see it. You are ours. You will always be a Winchester no matter what.)

Five

Plop. Plop.

(Harry, we are cursed! Do you think I can't see it?)

Six

(We never do catch a break. I've always tried to the right thing by Sam and Dean, son. And I've always regretted leaving you that night the most.)

Seven

His legs cross the devil's trap, smudging it. He smirks half-heartedly. His thoughts start to take a morbid turn and he crouches down in front of the figure lying on the dirt tracked and dusty floor, with limbs thrown in a haphazard manner. He licks his lips and a sharp tremor goes through him as he tastes his blood. Shock, he notes in a wry amusement. It had been a long time since he been truly in shock. His body almost begins to shudder, trying with all its might to lock down, as memories of a long forgotten time try to push their way to the forefront. The blood in his mouth feels familiar and disconcerting at the same time, the way his body braces itself even more to receive more pain.

He shakes his head and trails his bloodied nails along the unconscious girl's head, moving aside the mess of her dark hair. It seems darker in places and he deduces detachedly, that she must have hit her head when she went down.

A slight tingling in the atmosphere starts, the slightest disruption in the dust molecules hovering. Harry closes his eyes and tries to draw out his scratchy voice, his throat making it more painful, and the marks on them caused by a rough clawing which had almost crushed his windpipe, trying to make his voice stay down. His tries it out and the sound is no less pathetic than a scratch of a nail on a board.

The tingling increases and he tries to hurry. His next attempt brings out a bit more of a volume but his voice still croaks.

It will do.

Its not like he's going to get a better effort if he tried more. It would be just useless wastage of his energy and patience.

"Ruh-Regna terrae, cantate Deo, psalite Domino-" He coughs, the pain in his ribs penetrating through the fog in his head. The dust starts to swirl faster around him and he hurries on.

"-Qui fertis super caelum…" his throat dries up as a sudden image of a smiling child makes his throat clog up, restricting any further words from coming up.

(Caelum! Stop following Harry around. Uncle Regulus is-)

"I see you have made your deal."

Harry closes his eyes and breathes out heavily. In relief, in anger, in desperation. His fingers tremble as smooth footsteps echo on the hardwood floor, coming to a stop near him. The heavy aura of otherworldliness and the impending, but unavoidable brush with its presence make him unwillingly open his eyes, out of a sense of morbid masochism, and he sets out to curse himself for his foolishness as the aura immediately impales his eyes.

The light instantly dims, but Harry is still left seeing sparks. His headache explodes behind his eyes and he lurches back, teetering on his heels. He flings his hand out, wrist coming in contact with the ground and he braces himself on it. His body shivers even more, aftershocks running through him. The cuts on his palm start to burn and he hisses, squinting up at the smartly dressed figure. He smiles grimly as the figure raises its ornate cane, a ring glinting on one of the fingers curved around it, throwing out hypnotizing lights and shadows of itself, and touches the body of the girl with it.

A sharp whistling sound fills the air as the demon backs out of the body it was possessing, stunned awake, and the girl's body arches with the force the screaming black haze leaves her and simply hurls itself into the ground, not even making an attempt to escape the iron hold on it.

Harry leans forward and catches the unconscious girl before she hits the ground again. He once again moves her hair and with a faint twinge of discomfort, uses his blood to paint two runes on her forehead. The figure cloaked in black watches imperiously beside him, a silent guard, an impenetrable and infinite wall, the aura enveloping them and cloaking them from everything else. His headache finally decreases into a faint sting at the back of his head, bidding its time to come out.

He whispers the last incantation, the unused Latin flowing off his tongue familiarly, and the runes flare up. Harry's blood slowly turns black in the dim light, and Harry digs into his pocket to bring out his messy handkerchief. He uses it to wipe off the blood and gently lowers the girl to the ground.

"And so I did." He answers the entity beside him.

"You know I can't help you out of this." The emotionless interest that the words express make Harry give a small huff of laughter, mindful of his throat.

"Don't you have some burgers and fries to eat somewhere, my mighty friend?" Harry's wry tone does not affect the blank face. He sighs, bringing up his other hand to ruffle his messy hair. He runs through his words, trying to say something that would satisfy him.

"I'm not expecting to get out of this, Death. This is just my way of trying to save the one family I have always known." Death's lips twist down into a disdainful frown, and Harry wants to give into his laughter when he sees the startling similarity of the gesture he'd always been on the receiving end on by Snape.

"Azazel will not stop after this. There's a much bigger scene at play here. I hope you have come to realize that much." Harry gives Death a nonchalant quirk of his lips and shrugs his shoulder. Death's lips turn down even more at the corners.

"Your precious brothers will still be hunted for what they will represent in future. You can't begin to guess at what will come to pass. This will be much beyond your capacity." Harry notes the way the sentences get longer and longer. Death must be seriously affected by this if he was willing to talk so much.

"I know."

"Your impudent actions are going to cause a lot of trouble for your family, in both worlds."

"I know."

"Then I will leave you, Master." Harry inclines his head amusedly. This was the first time Death had even acknowledged him as his master after that whole debacle at the Train Station.

Take care of Sam and Dean is on the tip of his tongue but he swallows them back with some difficulty. It would be no use echoing the words to Death. Humans and their circumstances rarely even blipped on Death's radar after all.

He nods his farewell and Death vanishes, taking his oppressive power with him.

(The last enemy to be defeated is death.)

You were so wrong, sir. The last enemy is still to come forth.

He closes his eyes and turns his head upwards. Images flash behind his eyes as he tries to settle on a place to apparate to.

(Harry! Harry! Take Dean back to the house immediately, young man.)

Harry grins slightly as he remembers the time Mary scolded him for letting Dean play in the rain puddles and how he'd gotten caught trying to trick Dean into eating the mud.

"Kansas..."

He coughs up his blood as he spins, hurting his limbs even more as he feels himself squeezed uncomfortably. He lands on his feet hard and immediately crashes down as his ankles decide to mutiny against his weight. Soft prickly grass greets his face as he does. His entire body simultaneously decides to make the parts abused during his face off with Azazel and the added injuries after apparating known and his sides explode in agony. His intense headache greets him like an old friend and he almost blacks out.

With a harsh grunt of pain and a gurgle in his throat, he rolls slightly onto his back, despite all the injuries. The dark sky welcomes his weary eyes and he closes his eyes for a second, trying to catalogue the different points of pain radiating from his body. His body seemed to be going into some sort of meltdown.

Well, it was probably not a wonder. He had been throwing around soul magic and making deals and going toe to toe with a demon and apparating in his injured state. His body should have shut down a long time ago on him by now. Apparating after losing a lot of blood and having his nervous system going into a shock probably made him splinch something too.

He hears the telltale screams and shouts as the voices of the neighbours he barely remembers, and some unfamiliar, echo in the distance. He had made a racket after all. He smirks, trying to think what they'd come up with for explaining his fall from the nowhere, but that seemed like too much effort to expend. He sighs and searches for a familiar memory, tries to locate the old tree in which Dean had almost broken his leg trying to climb when it was no taller than their dad.

It stood black, blacker against the dark cloudy sky. But somehow its presence comforted him. It almost felt like family.

Family.

(PotterBlackPeverellSlytherinWinchesterwhatdoyoueve nbelongtoanymore)

He flinches at the thought. How young was he, when he'd been unwillingly recruited and savagely thrust into some of those worlds. He thinks about golden glowing chains on his soul and cries out softly as his head throbs.

(Harry! Run! Stay away from this part of the world or you'll never escape their clutches again)

He violently trembles and coughs, hacking up blood. No. No. Those chains had been long broken free from. As were all the other ones the moment he decided to cut his ties off from the entire Wizarding World.

(Oh, you foolish little sweet child. Your blood sings and thrums on the magic. You can never escape the hold magic has over you. She is a possessive wench, little boy. You're no sooner getting out of here than we are winning the war)

A hysterical sob tries to break free of his clogged up throat. Hadn't he already done enough? He had lost his life, his sanity, his morals, his values and his memories, his bearings, his childhood-all for the sake of everyone else. The greater good. He had to have broken free. After everything he'd given up, fate owed him for it.

But the cruelest irony was that that fate had brought him to this same point all over again.

At least this time, he was going to go out with his own free will, because he was doing the right thing. Nothing was screaming inside him to turn back. Nothing was whimpering inside him about injustices. His conscience was clear for the first time in a long while.

Atonement.

So.

This was it.

He wonders vaguely about the lives that were going to pause for a while and then resume again. He thinks about the unfulfilled promises he'd made. He tries to think about the idiot of a kid that had decided to follow him around, trying his hardest to be some sort of superhero to rescue people from monsters. He tries to think about his other family, how their lives would have changed.

Sirius and Yvonne, Perseus and Callisto and Caelum. He feels disappointed. The last time he'd seen them, they were all bloodied and mourning for him, grief clear on their faces.

(I'm naming you his godfather. You will be a better one to him than I was to you)

(Harry, teach me new spells! They were so impressed by that charm you taught me, they actually stopped debating about Calli's marriage and I actually got to defeat that git Malfoy for once!)

(Look after Uncle Reg, Harry. I'm really scared, you know?)

His vision grows dimmer and their memories turn into ones he barely remembers from his childhood. A salty feeling of melancholy fills him as he recalls a tune, a teasing melody in his head.

(Harry, please? I go to sleep better when you play your violin. See? Sammy sleeps better too!) Dean had always tried to sneak into his bed at night, shaking with nightmares about the fire and Sammy.

The time Sam finally started asking questions that started to cut in deep.

(I don't know Harry, why do we always have to move around? I really wanted to go to Mike's party.)

All the times Sam used his stupid face to get away with murder and how he and Dean always gave in to him.

(Jesus, you brat-don't use your eyes. For God's sake, Harry, you deal with him)

The various sentiments of safety echoed by his family.

(I'll always look after you)

(I'll have your back too, Harry)

His eyes close gradually, his breathing becoming smoother and his heartbeat slower.

Atonement. For all his sins. For everything. He is finally going to get what he deserves and it brings on a numb lightening sensation with it.

(Please don't leave me and Sammy alone, Harry. Please don't go away like Mom did.) Dean's miserable voice rings in his ears, as he remembers faintly how Dean clung to him, the only ever time he'd actually left Dean alone after the fire in those first few months.

Penance.

Hush, Dean. He tries to tell him. I'm alright, kiddo.

A sweet feminine voice tinkles with laughter at the back of his mind.

(Dean, it coos, "don't worry, baby. The angels are…)

"…watch'ng ove' you…" He tries to finish and a lazy smile stretches his bleeding lips as his heartbeat stops amidst all the screaming around him.

Wtf am I doing again? I'm sorry if this is full of mistakes. It is probably going to be. I'm hoping to receive an okay reception and I apologize again for all mistakes. This story is an epic proportioned tale that has been sputtering around in my head for a really long time. Since English is technically not my first language, I'm probably going to run this idea into a ditch while typing everything out. And this is probably not going to be in my favour either, but I'm really lazy about updates. I procrastinate a lot so I will probably end up giving up midway on this. But for the pure sake of how annoying this idea has been the whole past year, lingering in my thoughts, I'm going to write it. Hopefully.

Um, no slash. Just so I get it all out now. Slash even if it happens won't be the main focus here.

Also, I'm really sorry if nothing makes sense yet. It is not supposed to.

Hopefully, I will write more soon. Thank you for reading. Any thoughts? Care to let me know in a review?