The Dimension Shift: Future
Genre: Mystery, Action
Pairings: Harry Potter/Su Li
Spoilers: Yes, there will be bits and pieces from all the books.
Warnings: Graphic violence in later chapters, cursing, and some sexual themes.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in the books, the HP universe, or the majority of magical objects. All those belong to J.K.Rowling.
Summary: An accident in the Department of Mysteries forces Harry fourteen years into the future where he finds himself trapped in the middle of four warring factions in a much changed Wizarding World.
Chapter One: Prologue
Clouds of dust and glass shards shrouded the small group from the Death Eater's sight, and Harry felt a strong grip on his arm, urging him on. A swift flash of bushy hair told him that the hand was Hermione, and glimpses of black robes and red hair told him that his friends were close on their heels.
"Get them!" he heard Lucius Malfoy scream over the exclamations and curses of his companions, and as he glanced back he could make out shapes swirling within the mist of broken glass and dust before they broke free from it, and then he was running in earnest, drawing closer to Hermione, sprinting neck and neck, another glance back showing the twisted up face of the Death Eater who'd caught sight of them as they darted between the shelves.
Hermione grabbed his arm again, dragging him forwards, and together they barrelled through the door, Harry lagging as he twisted to cry 'STUPEFY!' and send the Death Eater following them tumbling to the ground. A moment later he found himself spun out of orbit and balance as Hermione let go of his arm. He was just in time to see her slam the door and turn back towards him with surprise written across her features, before something cool touched his skin and he was tumbling backwards through it. He saw a surface that rippled above him and then something in his chest twisted and writhed, and the glassy cocoon around him ballooned outwards and contracted.
He contacted with the ground and winced, one hand cradling the prophecy to his chest, the other immediately going for his wand and coming up empty. Hesitantly, he looked up to find the outside world distorted by what looked like a giant soap bubble surrounding him, wavering and pulsing. Hermione had drawn closer, and she was mouthing something to him, but within the bubble all was silent.
Harry opened his mouth to tell her that she should speak up, that he couldn't hear her, and could she please get him out because whatever was about to happen he was sure he wouldn't like, when the bubble suddenly seemed to make its mind up and resolved into a smooth, solid ball.
A moment later, the world outside twisted and Harry's vision tunnelled and faded.
"…forced to contact Arnold Peasgood. It all depends on how much he's aware of, really."
Harry winced, eyelids fluttering a little, lips moving as he tried to link up the ache that ran throughout his body to his last moment of consciousness. He'd been about to say something…but what?
"He's-"
"I'm aware of that. Check the restraints."
At the word 'restraints', Harry jerked his eyes open and flexed the muscles in his limbs only to find them tugged back as if bound by invisible bonds. Whatever had happened, whatever had gone wrong, he knew that this wasn't a situation he wanted to be in, not at all. There was a sharp faced woman in front of him who'd obviously halted when he began to move, but started towards him once more as he regarded her with wide eyes. In the fuzzy mist of the rest of the room, he was aware of another figure, possibly more; one of whom he guessed was the male voice he'd heard. His glasses missing, bound, he felt more vulnerable and naked than he ever had in his life.
Harry opened his mouth to speak as the woman approached, and promptly shut it when she drew her wand and flicked it at him with clear intent: move or speak and you won't like what happens. With a few brisk turns of it the bonds hummed against his skin and constricted. His eyes flickered from her face to the blurred room behind her.
"Secure sir," she said briskly. "Shall I begin?"
The figure in the background made an indistinct gesture, and Harry squinted. The woman nodded hesitantly and then more firmly.
"If you co-operate with us then we will have no need to exert excessive force, and you will be provided with ample sustenance for the duration of your stay," she told him formally, and Harry got the distinct impression that this was something she had said many times before. "If you choose to avoid co-operation then your stay will be…unpleasant."
Harry opened his mouth again, but once more he found himself cut off with a pointed glare as she brandished the wand.
"You will speak only to answer the questions you are asked, and any other questions you will write on the parchment provided before you are transferred to one of the stasis cells. We will reply at our discretion. Each question must be answered, or you will 'encouraged'. If we suspect that you aren't speaking the truth, then you will be subject to whatever methods we deem necessary."
Harry cringed back a little, thoroughly intimidated, and even more thoroughly confused. Things had obviously happened in-between his accident with the glass bubble and the present. Whatever it had done had been for the worst, he decided, and a pang went through him as he thought of his friends. Were they even safe yet? Had they escaped Lucius Malfoy and his cronies? A frisson of anger followed, and then guilt, because they wouldn't have been in that situation if they hadn't followed him, and if only he'd listened to Hermione he wouldn't be in this situation either…
"We'll begin with your name."
The woman had a birdlike quality about her face, pointed and precise, despite the soft line of her cheeks.
He licked his lips.
"Harry James Potter," he croaked.
The woman's face came alive in front of him, as if someone had lit her from inside like a candle in a hollowed pumpkin, and was just as suddenly extinguished. She scowled briefly before her face fell back into the blank, pinched look she'd worn before.
"As I said, if we suspect that you are not speaking the truth then you will be-"
"But it's true!" Harry burst out, face twisting in confusion, because she had to believe him, just had to, everyone in the wizarding world knew his name, had seen his face plastered over the front page of the Daily Prophet this past year…
His bonds constricted sharply and he let out an involuntary grunt of pain.
"You will speak only to answer questions directed at you," she reminded him, clenching her wand hand irritably.
Harry's expression darkened and became sullen at the unfairness of her treatment, but remained silent. Surely, when they found out who he was they'd let him free…and yet he had a horrible sinking feeling in his stomach. He'd never before hoped that he'd be recognised as the Boy-Who-Lived before, but if they weren't Death Eaters, and if they were from the Light side or even the Ministry then he was sure that everything would be all right, wouldn't it? He wasn't so sure anymore.
"Once more, your name."
Harry suppressed the panicky laugh that rose in his chest and focused. This was his chance to convince them, his window of opportunity, and he had to use it before she cut him off again.
"I've already told you, it's Harry Potter, I was born on July 31st 1980, my parents were Lily and James Pot-"
She snapped her wand and the bonds tightened across his chest, expelling the air from his lungs.
"We will be forced to use more-" she paused suddenly in her speech, eyes a little unfocused, and then she nodded once more.
"Assuming that this is the case, which is by most logical assumptions impossible, we ask how you managed to infiltrate such a heavily defended building, and for what purpose."
Harry gaped at her. Impossible? Heavily defended building? His friends had taken the bloody lift down to the Department of Mysteries! There hadn't even been a security witch or wizard on watch for them – they'd been given name tags stating their business (although a glance down at his robes showed that it must have become lost in the scramble). How could she imagine the Ministry to be heavily defended?
"What…" he stuttered before pulling himself together. "What do you mean, 'heavily defended'? There wasn't even a security person at the desk…"
He trailed off, feeling decidedly wrong footed as the woman exchanged a glance with the figure behind her and then turned back to him with a frown.
"We wish you to clarify," she said slowly, a hint of doubt colouring her voice.
"There was nobody there!" Harry exclaimed, anxious to make her understand. "There wasn't anyone at the security desk, and when we took the lift down to the Department of Mysteries-"
The woman's eyes widened, and then narrowed until all that were left were light slits. "The Department of Mysteries has not been in action since the conversion of the Ministry. So I ask again-"
"C-conversion?" Harry interrupted. "What conversion? The Ministry is where it always is, I passed the fountain and we went down in the lift…"
A low sound emitted from her throat, and he found himself unable to speak once more. She paused, turned her head slightly to the figure behind her and then regarded him once more.
"We will allow you the designated time of 43 seconds to explain yourself, before we resume standard questioning."
"Look," he said quickly, taking his chance to talk without retribution, "I don't know what's going on, but could you tell me if my friends survived? You must be from the Ministry, so you have to get help!" he pleaded. "There are Death Eaters in the Department of Mysteries, they tried to get me there to steal a prophecy, but we got there first…" he trailed off, seeing the wary look on the woman's face, mixed with clear incomprehension. He wasn't going to be able to make her understand, he realised with a chill, he wasn't going to be able to find out anything, and who knew what he'd have to suffer through before he was able? He'd tell them everything they wanted to know, if only they asked the right questions and stopped acting as if he were speaking a different language, stopped stopping him from actually explaining... For a moment he thought that some horrible practical joke had been played, and any moment Sirius would emerge from beneath a few well placed glamours and laugh his barking laugh and tell him that April Fools had come early or there was some wizarding custom he didn't know about that involved horrible pranks and tricks…
Sirius, Harry thought with yearning, Sirius, I hope you're okay.
"No," the woman said, "I wouldn't agree with-"
Harry started, thinking for a moment that she was talking to him before the dawning realisation that some modified Silencing spell was in effect came over him, and he understood she was speaking to someone else entirely. A moment later, the figure detached itself from the back of the room and walked slowly into focus.
Harry had been right in his guess that it was a man; he was of middling height with dark skin and greying hair, with the look of someone who was once rather comfortable about the middle but had become thin and lean through sleepless nights and forgetfulness. He had black eyes overshadowed by a strong brow, thick, dark circles beneath them, and he regarded Harry unblinkingly.
"That'll be enough Doris," he murmured in a low rumble and the woman to his side stiffened and stood up a little straighter. "I feel the standard techniques won't be quite adequate for this one."
"Sir, I assure you that I am able to-"
"I am sure you are, but I wish to take control of this case," he cut her off, casting a sweeping glance at her. "You look as if you could do with the sleep." A faint angry blush spread across her features and she gave him a curt nod before turning and receding swiftly into the blurred background.
The man observed him, unmoving, for several moments before flicking his wand lightly. The bonds around Harry's wrists and ankles loosened where Doris had constricted them, and he experienced the welcome tingle of blood returning to his numb appendages.
"Harry Potter," he said slowly, as if he was rolling the words over on his tongue. "Doris may be unaware of it, given her position, but we have been searching for you for a long time."
"Me?" Harry looked at him, surprised. Surely they would have found him already; it hadn't exactly been hidden that he was attending Hogwarts all these years. The Daily Prophet had run an article on what house he'd been sorted into when he'd first started there, indeed, he'd found it entirely by accident in the archives of the school library when looking up a potion maker.
"Mr. Potter," the man murmured, withdrawing a small sheaf of papers from a pocket that was obviously much larger on the inside, "was last reported in the Time Room in the Department of Mysteries, Thursday June the 17th 1996, where he encountered one of the incomplete and abandoned experimental works in an unknown and presumably fatal accident."
"I-" Harry tried, feeling his throat constrict.
"He and his friends had engaged several wanted individuals in duels," he interrupted, "namely Death Eaters, in the Hall of Prophecies. A great number of prophecies were broken in the resulting clash, and the contents lost. However, the Unspeakables were able to reassemble the fragments and detail exactly what was lost, if not recover it. Missing among them was a prophecy concerning Mr. Potter and a 'Dark Lord', among none of the apprehended individual's possession, nor noted as leaving the Department of Mysteries."
"Fatal accident?" he repeated slowly, feeling as if his mind had snagged on those two words. Ice travelled down his spine, raising hairs.
"Over the years there have been many 'Harry Potters' appearing all over the world, each claiming to have been lost in time, but each of them were proven false, one way or another." The man pinned him with a probing stare and Harry immediately turned away, reminded uneasily of Snape and their failed Occlumency sessions. "Eventually we developed a foolproof method of identification."
"The prophecy." Harry let his head tip back against the wall, information rushing into place. Finally, he closed his eyes with a painful effort. "Things aren't what…what I think they are going to be, are they?"
"Much has changed since your disappearance."
"Time travel," he murmured wonderingly. It couldn't be true. It shouldn't be possible, his mind told him. But it was. If he could travel back in time in his third year, why not forwards?
Silence greeted him, but that suited Harry just fine. The events that could have taken place as he was held in suspension while the years passed were excruciating in their potential. People he loved could have been hurt, or worse, killed. Voldemort could have finally beaten the Light into the ground.
He drew a ragged breath and pinched his eyes even more firmly shut. "What happened to my friends?" He was pleased to hear that his voice didn't waver, even if it still conveyed his feelings in the tone. Everything he was hung on a thread, waiting for the reply.
"All escaped the Department of Mysteries relatively unharmed, through the help of the notorious Order of the Phoenix. Albus Dumbledore arrived in time to engage in combat with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and the Dark Lord and his supporters fled when they discovered that the prophecy had gone missing. Miss Granger was severely wounded with a Dark hex, the after-effects of which still persist, Mr. Weasley sustained damage from his contact with the Mind Reels, Mr. Longbottom suffered a minute under the Cruciatus curse, while Miss Weasley and Miss Lovegood remained relatively unscathed."
Harry released his breath slowly. "They're still alive."
The man paused, and Harry felt his heart jump into his mouth. "Mr. Longbottom and Miss Weasley were targeted at their home, and they did not survive, along with the elder Mrs. Longbottom."
Something rose in Harry's throat; his chest deflating with a suddenness that felt as if he'd been kicked in the stomach. His friends, dead without question, just when he'd thought to relax. His friends, who'd followed him faithfully over the years, followed him blindly.
Dead.
The word hung in his mind, dominating everything until it was all he could think. A low whimper of a sound passed through his lips like a knife-edge before decaying into a choked sob.
"As members of the Order of the Phoenix they were prominent targets."
The words travelled to him from a great distance, as if through thick fog. They'd joined the Order. Why, he wanted to scream at them, why would they join and put themselves in danger? It was the sudden blink of understanding that he would never be able to speak to them again, never be able to shout at them for doing so, never even be able to attend their funeral that broke the dam, and he wept furiously.
With a sigh the man cast a glance at the boy and freed him from his bindings. Immediately he drew his legs up against his body, hands clasping his chest.
Silence reigned.
Several hours later, when the sobs had long silenced to barely perceptible breaths, a dull voice broke into the air.
"It's not going to go away, is it."
"Losing loved ones is like a scar," the man said quietly, leaning back. "The pain fades, but it will never disappear, and you will always be aware of the loss."
Harry opened his eyes, staring blindly at the grey wall in the distance. The man before him had lost someone, maybe many people, he didn't know. All he knew was that they shared a mutual sense of loss, and for a moment he felt a connection, a kinship with him. Someone else who could share his pain. He may not have been so close to Neville and Ginny as he was to Ron and Hermione, but at that space in time they had been the closest friends on earth, and the ache in his chest only repeated what he already knew.
"What's your name?" he heard himself ask, distantly, if only to break the silence that threatened to draw him back into his dark thoughts.
"Martin Croaker." There was a pause. "I worked as an Unspeakable at the Old Ministry."
"The Old Ministry." Harry reflexively curled the fingers of his hand into a fist.
"The Ministry was destroyed and rebuilt," Martin told him blandly. "It remains the centre of control for the Wizarding World, but its primary function is in defence and offence as opposed to any governmental policies. There is far too much unrest for that."
Harry roamed his eyes absently over the blurred wall. So much had happened, and now that his tears had run dry he was peculiarly devoid of emotion. There felt as if there were nothing in him, just a void and tightness in his chest that refused to fade.
He already knew what he was going to do; as soon as he could force himself to get up, as soon as he knew enough, he would track down his friends' murderers and destroy them as best he knew how. The people who hurt Neville, who was all softness around the edges with a deep, nascent sadness that seemed to reside in him; a tiny seed of sorrow. The people who hurt sweet, vibrant Ginny, who was still so bright despite the horror she'd endured in her first year, and who he had become increasingly aware of over the year; the gentle curve of her lips, the wave in her hair and the delicate shape of her eyes. The knowledge that she would never hug him, or shout at him or smile at him again crushed something in him.
"I want to know who killed them," he said finally, turning to regard Martin.
The man smiled humourlessly, shadows deepening across his face.
"I know," he said smoothly. "We will help you to the best of our ability."
Harry frowned slightly as he watched something in Martin's face change, and then he made a surreptitious move with his wand hand.
"I do not have much time, Mr. Potter, so I will be as brief as I can." He leaned forwards, a strange glitter in his eyes, the impassivity all gone. "They monitor every conversation here, and the spell I have used is only temporary. It will give us space to talk unheard, and all they will see is me asking you standard questions. The Ministry no longer has the opportunity to be as lenient as they should be, nor as kind. If they discover your true identity they will use you in the only way they know how; the situation outside has become that bad. Now, you face a choice in your path, you either remain here and hold up against the controls and personality conversions they subject you to, or you take whatever opportunity may present itself and escape from the Ministry's grasp as soon as is possible."
Harry stared at him with wide eyes, suddenly very attentive, all thoughts of revenge, of friends, of the past driven out of his mind. He had a feeling that listening might very well spell the difference between life and death.
"If you remain here you are guaranteed to be safe from the dangers outside, but you will be under a great deal of control. Rufus Scrimgeour altered the Ministry in his time, but it has come under new hands since the split, and Arnold Peasgood is not nearly as forgiving. I've seen some of the Vindicators they've produced in his time and they are as despicable as the Darkest wizards." A change seemed to have come over Croaker, and he was speaking with a jarring fervour that didn't seem to fit with his previous manner at all, leaning far forwards in his conjured chair. His eyes softened slightly as he gazed on Harry.
"You are our last hope Mr. Potter, and hope is all we have left. If you wish to take my offer then I will give you a Shiftkey as you return to your cell and drop the wards for five minutes. It is specialised to embed a spell in one of your molars that imprints the contents of the prophecy and isn't likely to be picked up by the scans. To activate it, I am afraid that you will have to remove the tooth, but only bones are less reactive than teeth, and I daresay you wouldn't want to lose a finger or a toe instead. Once outside you must find someone to remove the Ministry tags as soon as you are able. Do not use magic until they are gone, or they will find you within the hour. In the meanwhile I suggest you practice Chanting. There are always new Chants being invented, and with anyone other than the New Ministry you will be able to exercise them within a certain timeframe. They are absolutely invaluable."
He paused and looked down at his hands. "The prophecy is incredibly important," he stressed, "activate it only when you are sure that you will not let the contents leak to everyone you meet. Its significance would put you in a very dire situation were anyone to know of the contents. I have already compromised the original. Believe this Mr. Potter, the world outside the New Ministry is dangerous and fraught with conflict; do not leave under any false assumptions that you will face anything less than death out there."
Croaker's face seemed to fade back into neutrality like a ripple over water. He let out a short huff of breath.
"Mr. Potter, I pray for all our lives that you take this chance and, selfishly, for my own." His expression darkened. "'Betrayal' of this kind isn't tolerated when it is discovered, and if you refuse then it will be discovered. I am sorry that I cannot help you any more than this."
Harry opened his mouth to reply but Martin had become impassive again, and flicking his wand Harry found himself bound once more.
"You will be escorted to a holding cell where you may write down any questions you may have before you are placed in stasis. Have a pleasant trip Mr. Potter." He smiled, not in any way pleasantly, and then Harry found himself gliding out of the room, two stony-faced guards falling into step either side of him with Croaker in the front.
Mind reeling from all that had happened in the short space of time, Harry had only a few short minutes to process the information he'd just received before they reached the door. By that time though, his mind was made up. No matter that the world outside seemed as deadly as one of Snape's potions at that moment, it had to be better than this endless maze of lifeless grey corridors. If he were going to learn how to fight, and deal revenge on his friends' murderers, he thought darkly, then he would need the freedom to be allowed to do it.
He was dropped in the cell, and Martin summoned a sheet of parchment, a short stick of graphite and a rubber, placing them on a desk in the middle of the room.
"You have fourteen minutes and fifty nine seconds," he said, and with a nod both he and the guards departed, although Harry could see the shadows of the guards outside the blurred glass window in the door. He shifted slightly and looked around the room. It was windowless, grey, and bare but for a desk, chair and the stationary Croaker had deposited. Frowning, he approached the desk, wondering how the man could possibly have slipped him a…what…Shiftkey had he said? without even touching him.
Tentatively, he let his fingers drift over the parchment, pencil and finally the rubber.
A sensation as of hooks fastening into his spine came over him, and he quickly released the rubber, the feeling fading with it.
Question answered, Harry thought emotionlessly.
Taking a deep breath and a surreptitious look around the room, he clasped it firmly and vanished.
Author's Notes
The Ministry: I wanted to change things around, and the current climate in this world wouldn't have been able to work with a Ministry like we see in Rowling's books. Just because the wizarding world is generally populated by eccentrics doesn't mean that there aren't going to be those who could mobilise a sensible force or governing body, and that's just what's happened. It seems rather 1984-esque at the moment, but I wanted to emphasise just how bad the war has become over the years by the security measures they are taking.
Chants: These will be detailed later on, but the basic premise is that given a certain amount of time, any witch or wizard could use their voice to harness simple magic, without a wand. This is why the New Ministry places a time limit on answers, dependant on important numbers in Arithmancy to prevent people using them.
Tags and Shiftkeys: More innovations. Wars force people to invent. The idea for tags came from microchipping in the Muggle world, a device often used in films and such. Shiftkeys are just another mode of transport.
The angsting - Harry has just found out his friends have been killed. He isn't going to sit around moping for them and slitting his wrists for the rest of the story, but he's suitably unhappy about that fact in this chapter. He'll end up dwelling more on revenge as the story goes on.
For this story I wanted to do something a little different, and actually invest some time in plot and planning rather than just making things happen as I write, which is what ended up happening a lot with 'In The Company of Secrets'. I also tried to make the writing style a little less bland and tedious than 'The Company'. With this story I have an overriding plot roughly planned, and a more detailed one specific to this story, which should make it more organised. In total this story is in three different arcs, although whether I'll end up completing all of them remains to be seen.
Updates will be slower than 'In The Company', but there will be substantially more to them when they come. Future chapters should be levelling around 7k to 9k words per entry – this is shorter as it is simply an introduction/prologue.
For reference, in this story I have used several sites. To access them, remove the spaces from the links:
Dictionary . com
Wikipedia . com
Latin Dictionary and Grammar Aid (http // archives . nd . edu / latgramm . htm)
Hp-Lexicon . org
Till then,
Dream Red