Harry stared down the length of the wand, his mind failing to comprehend what he was seeing. Logically, he knew he was betrayed. A true friend probably wouldn't have a wand pointed at him, prepared to banish him into the Veil. But his heart just couldn'tunderstand what was happening.

"I truly am sorry about this, Harry." Said Draco, his father's hand clasped tightly onto his shoulder.

Harry, to his shame, just stood there mutely, as his best friend in the whole world stared at him, waiting for him to say something. But no words would come. His eyes slowly panned over to Voldemort, who had a sickeningly smug grin on his snake-like face. It was over.

"Dra-..I-." Harry stopped and started, his eyes as wide as saucers as he desperately thought of something, anything, to say. Preferably, something that would buy time for somebody to save him. Sirius, maybe? Or, if he was lucky, Dumbledore. No. It was over. Harry felt of his plans, his deceptions, the weight he was carrying be slowly stripped away. It was just him. And he had to know one thing.

"Why?"

Draco's eyes flicked with sorrow. "Because I had to." With that, he flicked his wand, as time slowed to a crawl for Harry, as Malfoy began the Banishing Charm.

So this is it. This is the end, Harry thought numbly as he stared, while the end of his life came towards him at a maddeningly slow pace.

No. It wouldn't end this way. It couldn't. He wouldn't let it. No good Slytherin would just let themselves die like cattle. And Harry was the best. His fury, and hurt, and rage at being os betrayed coursed through him, coalescing into something useful. With a wordless cry of pure anger, he unleashed a bolt of pure energy at his target, just as Draco finished his spell. Harry felt himself thrown back, as the Veil's gaping maw rushed to swallow him. However, something was rushing to meet the Veil. A bolt of red light flew towards the Veil, ripping the fabric of the portal asunder just as Harry went through.

Black. White. Red. Blue. Colours, named and unnamed, rushed all around him in a pattern of stunning complexity and richness. Harry could perceive it, but he couldn't quite understand it. He looked uncomprehendingly as wave after wave of feelings, thoughts, locations and time crashed onto him. It was as if he was supposed to understand something, but couldn't, like a snitch just out of his reach that he couldn't grasp. He felt his mind and body tremble and buckle, on the verge of breaking as he continued this insane journey through what he intuitively feelt was the very lifeblood of reality. Suddenly, it stopped. Blackness claimed him.

Then there was whiteness again. No, not white, blond. An unhealthy, bleached blond that could only ever belong to one person.

"What's your surname, anyway?" The blond boy said keenly, as he sat perched on the stool. Slowly, Harry took in his surroundings. It was Madame Malkin's. Row upon row of clothes stood in the shop, and Harry felt the grasp of Madame Malkin herself as she measured him up.

Harry's eyes turned back to his best friend (or so he thought up until five minutes ago), who stared at him with an impatient look. Harry stared dumbly back, not trusting himself to speak.

"Well?" Draco demanded as he gestured impatiently at his thoroughly unimpressive housemate. "What is it?"

Before Harry had time to answer, however, Madame Malkin told him that he was all done. So, instead of answering, he bonelessly stumbled his way to the door, feeling the burning eyes of Draco Malfoy burning into his back. It couldn't be. This couldn't be happening. Was it a dream? Was he hallucinating? Was he dead? If he was, then it was the most completely underwhelming heaven (or, more realistically, hell) he could imagine. As he emerged back into the bright street of Diagon Alley, he rubbed his eyes disbelievingly. When he opened them again, the alley was still there. He rubbed them again. Still nothing. For good measure, he gave them a final, long blink, just to make sure. Everything was still there, exactly how he remembered it. 30th of July, 1991. He was back. He couldn't be. But he was.

"'Arry!" A deep, familiar voice cried out to him happily, pulling him back to reality. "Wha's wrong?" asked Hagrid, a concerned look on his bearded face as he stared down at his young charge.

"N-nothing professor, nothing at all." Harry lied smoothly, with an admittedly unconvincing smile.

Hagrid look bewildered for a second, his eyebrows drawn together as if trying to solve a particularly obtuse math problem. "Professor? Nah, Harry, I told yer, I'm jus' the Groundskeeper, not no professor or nothing! Anyways, if you're all measured up, we've only got one thing left t'do. We need getcha a wand, lad!" He continued happily as he ushered his young charge down the street to Ollivanders clearing the way with his sheer size as Harry desperately tried to work out what in the hell was going on.

The rest of the day passed just as it had five years ago, minus his original self's friendly chat with his (former) best friend Draco Malfoy. He went back to Ollivander's, sat through the man's creepy monologue about his new wand and its brother, wondering how he hadn't ran away screaming at the man's frankly unhealthy obsession with wands the first time around. Then, as the day wound down, he went back through the Leaky Cauldron, into Paddington station, and had a quick bite to eat with his guardian for the day, who rambled on about how he'd do great things at Hogwarts between bites of his burger. Then, he got onto the train, and went back to the Dursley's.