Content warning: This story contains the following: major character death, dark magic performed by our heroes without any remorse, much swearing and moral greyness, and travel between dimensions. This is genfic, so there are no pairings. My personal headcanon for this story includes Ron/Luna, but you're welcome to ignore that if you like.
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or the characters associated with the franchise. I am but a simple student playing in someone else's sandbox. No money is being made from this project.
"How can you know what you want 'til you get what you wish and you know if you like it?"
~Cinderella, Into the Woods
Pectus pectoris votum
Harry Potter, forgotten child of martyred parents, looked away from Hermione's wand and wondered not for the first time just what he thought he was doing. Hermione had been insistent on trying out this spell, and it hadn't taken much to get Harry to agree to be a test subject. Hermione Granger could be an extremely frightening witch when she set her mind to it and most of Gryffindor House knew to just give her what she wanted. Over the years Harry had become a preferred test subject, mostly because no one would notice if anything went wrong. Harry himself had long since accepted that he was essentially invisible to those around him except when they needed him to do something for them, and he knew better than to make a fuss about it. Even before starting Hogwarts he'd known better than to make a fuss. No one liked difficult children, especially not orphaned ones.
"Now remember," Hermione said, "concentrate on something you want."
Harry nodded. He didn't actually know what he wanted. Well, he did, but somehow he doubted that Hermione's spell would be able to give him a fresh start in life. Not unless she managed to kill him, or send him back in time to before his parents died, at least.
"Ready?" Hermione asked.
Harry nodded again, despite the fact that he was not at all ready. She would just pressure him to hurry up if he admitted to not knowing what to wish for, and Hermione pressuring you was not at all conducive to concentrating on anything.
Hermione took a deep breath and, with a wave of her wand that no doubt came from hours of wordless practice, cast the spell to give Harry his heart's desire.
Meanwhile, in a very different world, an equally different Harry Potter was running for his life. His breath came in painful gasps but he ignored it, focusing instead on making it to the safe house relatively unscathed. He dodged a bolt of spellfire and shot a blasting charm towards his pursuer, not really caring if it hit or not. Killing his pursuer would be a nice bonus, but it really wasn't the purpose of the exercise. He just wanted to stall the Death Eater as long as possible and prevent him from calling for backup.
Harry jumped over a tree branch and ducked another spell, barely avoiding being grazed. He didn't know what it was and he didn't care. Nothing cast from a Death Eater's wand was something he wanted touching him. This particular Death Eater wasn't one of the more skilled ones, but he had anti-apparition wards up and he had a great deal more stamina than Harry. Most of Harry's early training in running had been sprinting, not long distance chases, and his pursuer was catching up steadily.
He tossed back another blasting charm and followed it up with a severing hex, hoping he at least hit a branch of some kind to inhibit the Death Eater a little. He didn't stop to see if it had worked or not, but kept running, doing his best not to run into any branches of his own. Each breath burned in his lungs, and he knew that unless he made it to the safe house or shook the Death Eater soon he would be caught. The thought gave him an extra burst of speed: Harry Potter had not survived nineteen years in this world to be finally killed by a lack of endurance.
He swerved right, then back left, weaving through the trees as best he could without losing his footing. More spells hurtled towards him, most of which he managed to avoid. A cutting curse grazed his right shoulder, and he hissed in pain but didn't slow down. He didn't even take the time to send spells back, focusing all his attention and energy on getting away. He could see the safe house now, or rather the illusion of the safe house that would act as a portkey to the actual safe house once Harry managed to spit out the password. All he had to do was reach it before the Death Eater and without getting tripped or hit by spellfire. Harder than it sounded, given the circumstances, but definitely doable.
He could hear the Death Eater's footsteps behind him, coming increasingly closer, and he risked slowing down to throw a series of stinging hexes back at him. A yelp told him that he'd connected at last but he didn't take the time to celebrate. If the Death Eater was within range when the portkey activated, he would end up at the safe house too, and Harry couldn't let that happen. They'd had too many safe houses compromised; they couldn't afford to lose this one too. Harry was prepared to give himself up rather than expose his friends like that, but really he would rather get away completely. Fate owed him more than a little good luck at this point.
The illusion came ever closer, and he dove the last few feet, gasping out the password as he did so. He felt the sudden jerking sensation of a portkey and sagged with relief. The relief was short lived. A second or so later he felt himself being jerked off course. His body flailed against the unexpected tugging and Harry strained to both see what was going on and get free of the foreign pull. Nothing he tried worked, and soon he felt himself travelling much faster than before, guided through space by a completely unfamiliar force. He thought he might be screaming, but be couldn't hear any sound. Around him he could see only blackness, but he closed his eyes anyway. Maybe if he didn't look at what was going on he would be able to pretend it wasn't happening. Not that Harry was capable of lying to himself that much, but he certainly tried.
The movement came to an extremely sudden stop and Harry's body slammed to the ground. He groaned, keeping his eyes closed. Most of him very much did not want to know where he'd ended up. In his experience anything that could hijack a portkey like that was far too powerful and he didn't want to mess with it.
Slowly his brain managed to process the sounds of a voice and he frowned, keeping his eyes closed. It sounded... concerned. Scared even. Not angry or gloating. It also sounded young. Not that any of those things completely ruled out a trick of Voldemort's, but it definitely made it less likely. He peeked out through one eyelid and practically did a double take. His other eye popped open and he stared around, mouth dropping open. He was lying crumpled on the floor, but he barely noticed. His entire attention was fixed on the room in which he now found himself. He opened and closed his mouth several times, but no words emerged. Finally, "What the fuck?"
"Harry?" He turned his head, recognizing the concerned voice from earlier, and saw Hermione standing nearby, looking shocked. She held her wand pointed at his face, and before he could stop himself he rose and knocked the wand out of her hand, barely keeping himself from reflexively snapping it. This did nothing to wipe the shocked expression from her face, though she looked slightly angrier now. "What are you doing?" she demanded. "Give that back!"
"Why were you pointing it at me?" Harry asked, not relinquishing his hold on the wand. "And what the Hell am I doing here?" He blinked, really looking at her for the first time. "And why are you young again?"
She was looking genuinely concerned now. "Maybe we should take you to the hospital wing," she said. "Something must have gone wrong with the spell. You won't mention what we were doing, will you?"
"I can hardly mention what we were doing if I have no idea what that was," Harry said, not moving. "And I don't need to go to the hospital wing anyway. I need answers. Where the hell am I and who are you?"
"You're at Hogwarts," Hermione said, speaking slowly as though to an idiot. "In the library. I'm Hermione. I'm your friend, remember?"
"Like Hell you are," Harry said. His brain was finally starting to recover enough from the impact and the subsequent shock to properly take stock of his situation. "You're not my Hermione at all. She'd never accept being disarmed for this long."
"What do you mean your Hermione?" she wanted to know. "There's only one of me. Harry, I really think you should go see Madame Pomfrey."
"No," Harry said firmly. "You said not to mention what we were doing. What exactly was that?"
"You agreed to help me with a new spell," Hermione said. "Do you really not remember?"
"Of course not. If I remembered I wouldn't be asking. What spell?"
"Pectus pectoris votum," she said. He blinked.
"Never heard of it. What's it meant to do?"
"Harry, I explained this to you at least a dozen times. It grants you the thing you wish for the most."
"That can't be legal," Harry said, shaking his head.
"Of course it is!" Hermione exclaimed, looking scandalized. "I would never do anything illegal Harry! How dare you accuse me of doing such a thing?"
"Definitely not my Hermione," Harry muttered, ignoring her muttering. His brain raced, trying to figure out what was going on. Obviously this Hermione was not the one he knew. Nor was this his Hogwarts, since that one had burned down months ago. It could be an elaborate trap, but he discounted that thought almost immediately. Even if Voldemort was smart enough to set this kind of trap, none of his Death Eaters were skilled enough to pull it off, especially without attracting attention. Which meant... "What's the date?" he asked, interrupting Hermione's ranting.
She narrowed her eyes at him. "October 3rd," she said.
"No, the year," he said impatiently.
"How can you have forgotten the year?" she wanted to know. "1995."
His eyes widened. "Oh." He felt his heartbeat start speeding up and forced himself to stay calm. "I think I need to sit down." As he spoke he stepped backwards and bumped into a chair. He collapsed into it.
"Are you all right?" Hermione asked, eyes wide.
"No," Harry said shortly, still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that he'd managed to travel nearly five years back in time. "I'm pretty sure I've somehow come back in time." He frowned. "This should be impossible."
"Back in time?" He didn't need to look up to see that she didn't believe him. "Don't be absurd. That's impossible."
"That's what I just said," Harry agreed. "Except it doesn't make sense." Hermione had never tried that spell on him during fifth year. And where was Ron? They hadn't been fighting much that year, as far as Harry remembered. Unless... "Who's the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?"
"Professor Moody, of course," Hermione said.
Definitely more than just time travel then. "I'll need a newspaper," he muttered, more to himself than to Hermione. "And a way back. Hey, can you cast that spell on me again do you think? Maybe it'd send me back." He paused, then changed his mind. "Actually scratch that idea. It'd probably just bring people back from the dead and that won't help me right now. No point breaking even more laws of magic."
"What are you going on about?" Hermione demanded. Curiosity warred with suspicion in her voice and expression, and Harry thanked Merlin that it had been Hermione, of all people, he'd met first. Even at fifteen she could be counted on to consider an intellectual challenge reason to keep talking to a dangerous stranger.
"I don't think this is my past," he said. "I think that spell pulled me into another dimension."
"There's no such thing as other dimensions," Hermione scoffed.
Harry shrugged. "I kind of specialize in the impossible," he said. "Comes with the territory of being Boy-who-lived, really."
"You're not the Boy-who-lived. What are you talking about?"
Harry's eyebrows rose. "Really?" Voldemort had gone after Neville then. Or maybe there was no prophecy at all. But no, Hermione recognized the title. Unless it was some weird fluke of fate. Harry grimaced and did his best to calm his racing thoughts. Figuring out all the possible variables was Hermione's thing, not his. His Hermione, not the one standing in front of him staring. His grimace deepened. This was going to get confusing.
"Of course you're not!" this Hermione said.
"Definitely an alternate universe." He grinned slightly. "Merlin, Neville won't believe it when I tell him." If he ever got back to tell Neville, of course. Harry did his best not to think of that and focus on the situation at hand instead.
"Alternate universes don't exist," Hermione repeated, though she sounded less certain now. "And even if they did I certainly don't know how to summon someone from one."
"It must have been the spell." Harry wished his Hermione were somehow here instead of this one. Not that this one wasn't most likely a lovely person, but his Hermione had much more experience with Harry's particular brand of impossibility and she wouldn't be wasting his time trying to prove that he was lying.
"What do you mean it must have been the spell?" Hermione demanded. "I'm positive Harry didn't wish for himself from another universe to come."
Harry shrugged. "Do you actually know what he wished for?" he wanted to know.
"No," Hermione admitted. "But it wouldn't ever occur to him to wish for that." She paused, then frowned. "Where is he, anyway? If you're in his body..." she trailed off, and Harry too frowned.
"I don't know," he admitted. "This kind of thing is really not my area of expertise. But if I can get home then hopefully he'll come back and it'll all be fine. The question is how do I go about getting home?"
"I could try the spell again." She didn't sound very certain that it was a good idea, and Harry shook his head.
"I don't actually know my deepest wish right now," he said. "Maybe if I could look in the Mirror of Erised first, but I don't have the first idea where to find it in this dimension, if it even still exists."
"The Mirror of Erised?"
"Shows you your heart's desire. Not important." He rose and started pacing, frowning fiercely.
"Er, it's going to be curfew soon," Hermione said. "Maybe you should figure this out back in the common room?"
Harry grimaced. "I'd like to get back as soon as possible," he said. "What I really need is the restricted section, but I can't get in there."
"Of course not!" Hermione said, sounding shocked that he would even consider the possibility. "It's restricted for a reason!"
"I'm surprised the book your spell came from wasn't there," Harry said darkly, glaring at the section in question.
"Er," Hermione mumbled.
"Wait, it was?" Harry turned to stare at her, not bothering to keep the astonishment off his face. "And you tried it? On a human? Who wasn't a Death Eater? Are you completely mad?"
"Keep your voice down," Hermione hissed. "And I didn't realize what it could do!"
"It's restricted for a reason," Harry said darkly, throwing her own words back at her. His Hermione had learned not to play with dangerous spells without doing all her research after being accidentally turned into a cat. Apparently this one had failed to learn that lesson.
"We still need to get back to the common room," Hermione said, obviously wanting to change the subject. "Otherwise we'll both get in trouble."
Harry rolled his eyes. He hadn't been scared of getting detention since second year, if that. After spending three years fighting Voldemort's forces, the idea of getting detention and losing points seemed positively quaint.
Hermione, apparently, did not see it the same way. She looked positively scandalized at his lack of concern. "It's a restricted spell!" she hissed. "We could get expelled for trying it!"
"We?" Harry demanded. "I didn't do anything. And why did you try it if it's restricted, anyway?"
"I didn't think Harry would want anything illegal," Hermione said defensively. "I just thought he'd want a better potions grade or something."
"Which would be cheating," Harry pointed out.
"He couldn't have kept it up," Hermione said dismissively, and Harry scowled, annoyed on behalf of his alternate self.
"Still. I don't think you thought this through particularly well."
"Well it happened," Hermione said. "And if anyone finds out I'll get expelled."
"You know, that really doesn't convince me to keep quiet," Harry said. "From where I stand, you did something dangerous and stupid and I'm here because of that."
"I'm your friend though!" Hermione practically wailed.
"The Hermione from my world is my friend," Harry corrected. "I don't even know you." He sighed. "Luckily for you, I haven't decided what I'm going to do yet." If he exposed what she'd done he might be able to find someone who could send him back. On the other hand he might also end up a pawn of various powerful people. He'd had more than enough of that to last several lifetimes.
She all but sagged in relief. "Let's go then. We don't want to be out after curfew."
"You don't want to be, you mean," Harry corrected, but he stopped pacing anyway. "Lead the way."
"You don't know where the common room is?" She frowned, having apparently not even considered the possibility that he might not be a Gryffindor.
"Of course I know where it is," Harry assured her. "But you know the password."
"Oh. Right." She took a deep breath and picked up her book bag. "Er, can I have my wand back?"
Harry handed it over and she put in her pocket. He grimaced slightly, remembering the innumerable lectures about wand safety he'd had from Moody, most of which focused not keeping your wand in your pocket, but didn't comment. They left the library in silence, making their way through sparsely populated corridors up to the Gryffindor common room. Harry did his best not to stare too much, but it was hard. Seeing Hogwarts as it had been was harder than he would have thought, and it took significant effort to keep from running his hands lovingly over all the walls and paintings.
Hermione let them into the common room and once again memories assaulted Harry. He forced himself to keep moving until he found an armchair near the fire, into which he sat heavily, focusing on breathing evenly. Around him people came and went, but no one came to talk to him, and the armchair next to his remained empty. He barely noticed, entirely focused on soaking in as much of Hogwarts as he could. It had been so long since he'd been able to just sit in the Gryffindor common room, or walk through the hallways from the library, or even climb the ever-moving stairs. He'd never really gotten over the destruction of the only home he'd ever known, though in his personal timeline it had happened months ago now. A tiny part of him didn't want to go back. Hogwarts lay in ruins back home, a crumbling testament to Voldemort's looming victory. Even if their ragtag band of fighters managed to somehow win the war and rebuild it wouldn't be the same.
"Don't be selfish Potter," he muttered aloud, forcing his mind away from such thoughts. He couldn't leave his friends to fight alone, not when he was the only person who could kill Voldemort. This world had its own Boy-Who-Lived. It didn't need Harry too. And he would much rather be with his friends than the people here, Hogwarts or not. He winced and hurriedly shoved the thought of his friends away. Ron and Hermione were probably going mental, and that was assuming they hadn't found his body. It they had, well... Harry didn't envy any Death Eaters the pair might find in the near future. Not that he ever envied Death Eaters anything, of course.
He noticed movement out of the corner of his eye and turned towards it instinctively, barely keeping himself from drawing his wand. War instincts were all very well, but they wouldn't serve him well in this kind of environment, not if he didn't want to be thought of as a potential Death Eater himself.
It turned out to be just a first year moving past him to go upstairs. Harry forced himself to relax. Nothing would hurt him here. He was safe. The concept barely meant anything to him anymore, not after three years spent running. Despite his best efforts he found himself starting at shadows and his hands ached from being clenched so hard.
At last, unable to bear it any longer, he rose and made his way upstairs. It didn't even occur to him until he'd gone halfway up that his dormitory might not be on the same floor as back home. Carefully he peered into his usual room, and was relieved to find a trunk proudly sporting Dean's West Ham poster. He fought down the wave of nostalgia at the sight and looked around, wondering which bed was his.
It proved to be the one in the very corner of the room, right next to Neville. Harry noted that it was pushed as far against the wall as possible and his eyebrows rose a bit. Either this Harry really valued his privacy or the others really didn't like him. At least that relative isolation would serve Harry well until he could figure out how to get out of here.
He kicked off his shoes and climbed onto the bed, resisting the urge to fill its every inch with protective magic. If he was going to tamp down the war instincts while he was here, flooding his bed with magic would not be a good way to start. The curtains had rudimentary protections on them already. They would be enough for now. Maybe he would reevaluate later if it proved to be an issue.
Resolutely, Harry set his wand under his pillow, noting as he did so that it wasn't the one he was used to. Well, that made sense. Neville was the Boy-Who-Lived here. Of course he would be the one with the phoenix feather core. Once, Harry would have felt a pang of loss for his old wand, but he'd fought with enough wands not his own over the years that most of the sentimental attachment to his original one was long since gone. A wand was a wand, really.
He pulled the curtains closed, relaxing slightly as the protective magic that would keep anyone from surprising him during the night settled over him. He might be trying to decrease his paranoia a bit, but Harry had spent the past three years practically bathed in protective magic, and even the little trace of it he felt now was calming. Not that he was anywhere near calm, but every little bit helped.
Harry took a deep breath and closed his eyes, settling himself as best he could for his nightly Occlumancy exercises. Not that he'd be able to get anything done, riled up as he was, but he'd promised Hermione - his Hermione - that he'd try every night and even being in a different dimension wouldn't get him out of it. So he tried his best to clear his mind, keeping his breathing deep and even as he did so. If nothing else the exercise helped him relax, loosening his muscles and draining some of the tension from his body. Not all of it, but some was better than none at all.
As he worked to clear his mind he became aware of something strange lurking at the corners of his consciousness. Some of the reading Hermione had done about Occlumancy, back when they still had regular access to books, had mentioned that each person had an individualized mindscape which they could access with the right kind of concentration. Harry had seen his a few times, but for the most part he'd focused on building walls to keep Voldemort out as much as possible. The dark wizard delighted in smashing through Harry's defenses at every possible opportunity, but Hermione insisted that he keep trying. Arguing with Hermione was even more exhausting than getting his defenses smashed by Voldemort, especially after Luna sided with her and started telling rambling stories about creatures and people Harry had never heard of. According to Neville, who probably understood Luna best out of everyone, all her stories had a point, but frankly Harry would rather just give in than try to work out what she was actually trying to say.
So it was to his mindscape that Harry turned now, shifting his concentration somewhat. Like everything else, accessing his mindscape got easier with practice, and it only took a few minutes for Harry to climb through his mental representation of the fat lady's portrait into his personal mindscape. The Gryffindor common room lay before him, identical to the one he'd just left save for its lack of people.
Except that this time it wasn't empty at all. A figure sat in one of the armchairs, gaping at Harry. His hair was black and messy, and his eyes a bright, instantly recognizable green. He was a great deal skinnier than Harry, and obviously younger, but there was no mistaking his identity. Harry had just found the original owner of this body.
For a long moment the two of them stared at each other. The younger Harry's expression cycled between scared, confused, and angry, while the older Harry did his best to keep his face impassive as he sorted through his options. Obviously he would have to tell his younger self the full truth. Maybe even offer to give up control of the body, though honestly Harry had no idea how to actually go about doing that. His paranoid side, which sounded rather like Mad-Eye Moody, shrieked at him to tread carefully, but he ignored it. The younger Harry deserved an explanation. After all, if it had been Harry's body he would sure as hell have wanted to know what was going on.
Finally he broke the silence. "Er, hi. This is going to sound insane but I seem to be you."
Author's note: Oh look, something new. I have two completed chapters, one nearly completed chapter, and 14,000-odd words of later scenes. We'll see how quickly I can keep writing this thing.