There is nothing certain about alternate universes except the possibility that it might exist. To Harry's knowledge and from all the tomes that they've spent reading, the time turner was the only way to change the past, and they both didn't have access to it. There was a ritual that could theoretically make them jump but it is entirely possible that in doing so, they can lead themselves into a death trap, or find themselves in a world that was completely different from their own.

Well, at that certain point, there was no other way for him to test out the theory, and with them being hunted like wild beasts gone astray, Harry was ready to bet on anything even if it didn't mean that it would change anything.

He would personally rather die than face a life of servitude and disgrace. Oh, the Dark Lord sent him dreams of what he'd been planning to do to him… and it was not a life he would wish on any man or woman… He knew if he got caught this time, there would be no reprieve, no forgiveness. If he wasn't already broken, Tom would break him further and he would not survive it.

He spent two years under the man's tender loving care and it left scars too deep to fix.

He did not want a repeat of it.

Harry Potter clutched his scar and he just knew that they already caught up and he was there. He was always there lurking at the back of his thoughts, and much like he couldn't keep anything secret, it meant that there were times he caught glimpses of the man's plans. He heard his voice inside his head, telling him to 'come back to me' and he was almost too glad that they were seconds from completing the ritual… although something went wrong.

Harry didn't count on the Dark Lord stepping inside the ritual magic circle in an effort to take him back.

The beads that would supposedly hold Hermione to him were torn off but the ritual was complete… and the runes glowed and powered with his blood, magic sang in the air.

Tom Riddle, the utterly insane man who hungered to have him could only ask one question, "What have you done?" before they were both whisked away to a cacophony of colors and pain.

The first thing that he felt was how much his body hurt. It felt like one of the Dark Lord's torture sessions all over again. The next thing he realized was how much greenery surrounded him. He could barely move and he felt as if there was something… weighing him down.

When his blurry sight focused, he found himself staring at a skull and bones which sat on his lap… and just bellow, he saw a familiar robe.

Familiar enough with the same black cloak they both wore as they ran for their lives away from the empire, and away from Lord Voldemort.

Hermione was dead.

A scream pierced the air.

.

Waking up in a forest was not one of the things Harry bet on. He also didn't think that Hermione would die… and judging from her bones, she'd been dead and he was sleeping for a long time.

The next thing he didn't expect was his age… He was a child all over again… about seven years old, maybe yonger... and there were some features of his body that changed. One… he looked way more feminine than he wanted, and his ears had a slightly pointed look that made him think of elves.

He went wandering on his own for a while but he made sure to keep something of Hermione with him. He wore the same upper robe, since the pants didn't fit him and as for Hermione, he took her skull and buried the rest of her in that unnamed forest.

He was thirsty and hungry, and he hoped there was somebody out there. Then, he came upon a human settlement. Humans were familiar to his mind, but for some reason, he seemed strangely wary of them. He clutched Hermione's skull to his body and hoped someone could tell him where he was and where he could find food and shelter.

Walking around the strange new world was troubling. It did not look like London, and it did not look like the Wizarding world that the Dark Lord ruled with an iron fist. There were no scary Death Eaters, and there were no skyscrapers. He felt as if he ripped apart time to land in an era where technology has not fully developed. He spied horses instead of cars, and humans with clothing that seemed strange, old or archaic could be a term.

His stomach growled unpleasantly but he remained hidden among the bushes, observing and unsure if he had to reveal himself.

He wondered if he had the right decision in doing the ritual… if perhaps his coming brought about so many other things, like the possibility that his parents would not exist or that he lost the only chance he had to see his friends. He wondered if Tom killed them all. He always said he would, and Harry felt fat tears fall down, unable to stop them especially now that he felt like a kid.

Harry felt instantly alone, and it might have been because he was in a child's body and affected by childish thought, that he started sobbing loudly.

Then, he found himself facing the edge of a sword and he hiccupped. The world around him was still blurry around the edges.

He could not understand a word of what they were saying… but he was immediately taken and he struggled especially hard when they tried to take Hermione away from him. It was the only familiar thing in the strangely unfamiliar land.

"Please give her back! Hermione is the only one I have! Please!"

He bit the hand that was holding him back and that was when something hard hit the back of his head.

Then nothing.

Harry kept silent as the riders took him away. They tried to feed him but he could not find it in himself to eat their food. There must be poison… or there must be something else entirely that he could not begin to understand. He didn't trust them not after what they did, but they were kind enough to give him back Hermione.

He tried to still the tears as he hoped his bestfriend would be with him in this, and maybe a miracle would appear and she would reanimate from the dead and reassure him that, "Harry, it's going to be alright."

Nothing made sense. The riders carried arrows, and their swords were filled with scratches, well worn, and blood. He hoped they would not hurt him, or bring him back to the Dark Lord.

He clutched the skull next to him and wallowed in his own sadness…

It took several days until his hunger finally got the better of him and he'd grumpily eaten what was offered. When someone raised a hand to pet his head, Harry hissed, not much different from a feral cat.

They all laughed, and Harry felt terribly embarrassed and red dotted his cheeks. He was a small kid, sitting there with only his old white robe that had a sash on the middle, and it only came a little higher than his knees. It sometimes felt very cold, but he was used to discomfort. Tom would sometimes lock him up in a cold dungeon all by himself when he was misbehaving so this much was tolerable.

They travelled, and his human companions slowly grew on him, especially this black haired fellow who kept on trying to feed him. It was one starry night that they sat on the campfire and Harry was drinking from a bowl of soup that had freshly cooked hare that they introduced themselves, "Aragorn" The dark haired man pointed to himself.

The others did the same, and one by one they introduced themselves. Harry was capable of imitating speech and said, "Ragorn?"

"Aragorn."

"arah gon?"

There was a fond smile on his face, and just like how he pointed at himself, he pointed at Harry and put a questioning look on his face. Harry then blinked at the man, and with a finger on his face, he said happily, "Harry"

They were all surprised that he had a name, and they repeated it. Some childish glee in him surfaced at the sound of his name and they pointed up at the heavens, "Galad."

Harry nodded and pointed at the fire, "Galad?"

They nodded.

It was then that Harry noticed there was a difference between the mysterious man Aragorn and the rest of his travelling companions. Where Aragorn looked human, the rest looked like him with their pointy ears, and the hair that looked as if not a strand was out of place.

There was a noted elegance in how they moved, and how they talked to each other, of which Aragorn looked like an outsider, despite being their obvious leader.

He learned many different words, and it was frustrating that he had no magic to simplify the process. It would only take one spell and he would learn it all.

He was finally warming up to his mysterious captors who offered him food and shelter and perhaps they have finally reached their destination. Harry found excited notes of pleasure leaving his mouth, as he stared at the odd and beautiful place in excitement. It was a village or group of dwellings, perhaps a city made of white and silver, and it rested against the nook of a valley – of mountains and waterfalls, and beneath it was a river. From where he could see, the dwellings looked different in the way they spiraled and curved, elegantly in comparison to the sharp and wooden houses he'd seen humans dwell in.

"Valley of Imladris, Rivendell," Aragorn gestured, and whispered the word, "Home." Which Harry understood.

"Navaer, Harry."

Then, he was left at the gates, and he saw strangers going after him, and Harry felt frightened, running after Aragorn who was already on his horse, the same horse that he rode with Harry.

"Are you leaving me? Where are you going Aragorn? What's going on?"

The man merely smiled at him and waved goodbye before kicking the horse and moving far away. He felt betrayed somehow, and glared at everyone he saw.

Then, the most beautiful woman he ever saw in his life knelt before him, her kind grey eyes looking at him in concern as he cried fat tears of despair of losing his friends. She hugged him and rubbed his back, saying words that made him want to sag in relief.

Soon, he tired of the tears and was gazing forlornly at the gates, this strange beautiful lady speaking to him in soft tones and her softer hands doing wonders to the troubles that haunted his mind. He thought she felt like a mother, and it was with that last thought that he fell asleep.

Rivendell – it was a beautiful place, Harry found himself admiring it more and more, with how the golden hues of the sun always struck against each and every dwelling softly. This light, and infinitely peaceful world is his new home. They were all patient with him, all loving, caring. It felt as if he was in heaven and all who surrounded him were angels. They taught him their language, and told him about their history...

It was too much for his mind to actually digest, and he was not sure if he liked it here or if he wanted to go back where he came from but it was nice so far.

He was an elfing, one so rare that it was a miracle to even have him. Standing before him were even more magnificent beings.

There was Thranduil, the Elven King of Mirkwood. There were flowers that looked as if it was wooven into the wood and gold and silver that made up his crown. It was said that he never stepped foot out of his dwelling, but here he was in front of him, bearing gifts along with his son, Legolas who was looking at him like he was the most precious thing in the world.

To his right was Galdriel the Lady of Lothlórien alongside her husband, Lord Celeborn. They too brought gifts, and blessings. On his left were the three well known Istaris of middle earth. They reminded him of Dumbledore too much it was uncomfortable. All he could do was hide behind Arwen wondering why even in his second life, he had to be special.

Author's Note: Let me know what you think.