Somewhere In-between

Summary:

Harry dies in the battle of Hogwarts and finds himself in 1944, as a ghost. Only problem is… he's invisible to everyone but Tom frickin' Riddle. Unable to communicate with any other living soul and drowning in solitude and despair will Harry take the only hand he is able to hold? Will he want to?

A/N: So this idea has been running around in my head for a while, and yes I know I've not finished 'What do we fight for' but I honestly can't face writing that right now, I've wrote myself into too many plot holes and writers block. So here's to hoping this gives me back my inspiration… maybe. Either way I think I will be focusing on this and I'm sorry to those who want me to continue with my other story.

But for now, I hope you enjoy the start to my new fic…

Also this will be a dark fic. I simply can't write anything else. But it will be slow, Harry's not going to suddenly be casting the killing curse about and kicking puppies. I will be trying to make it as realistic as possible.

Disclaimer: I'd like to know who thinks it's remotely feasible that I own Harry Potter? Because, truly, I'm flattered.

Chapter 1: When home becomes a prison

"Avada Kedavra!"

Harry barely managed to dodge the blinding green light as it rushed towards him- jumping out of the way just in time for the spell to practically brush against his skin, the air crackling with the pure magic and intent of the spell.

How could one spell be so powerful as to stop a life completely with no clear sign of how it managed such a feat? It was truly both amazing and terrifying.

Adrenaline pounded through his veins as he leapt over crumbled bits of rubble of the once majestic castle. How had they come to this? Wizards often claimed to be better than muggles but looking around, taking in the devastation and pure horror of the war they were trying to end Harry could see no difference. They were no better. They were all just human.

And what was it all for? Just one crazed man blinded by power, obsessed for immortality and unable to look past his own desires.

Harry hated him.

So he would fight for their freedom or he would die trying. There was no other option in his mind.

He couldn't believe it. Didn't want to believe it. Because accepting the fact that he had a piece of Voldemort's soul harboured inside him was admitting to the fact that Dumbledore had lied to him for all these years. That he had been used. And that was hard to accept.

It also meant that he needed to die. That when it came down to it, his main purpose in this war was to give his life. And while Harry was willing to die for everyone that didn't mean he wanted to. Didn't mean he could forgive the fact that he had never been told, never been prepared.

Everyone could feel it in the atmosphere- the anticipation was slowly rising, building up as the climax of the battle came to an end. Soon it would be over and a winner would be decided; the fate of the world would be determined. It was unclear which side would be triumphant: the battle was so closely matched even if it was in different ways. Harry found himself tense with the prospect of what was to come. There was a feeling in his gut he couldn't shake away- the feeling that something awful was about to come and he would be helpless to prevent it.

As it turned out: he never even had chance to dodge.

Someone screamed his name. Ron? Hermione? He would never know who.

Turning in the direction of the cry he was just in time to see a brilliant green light and feel the pure panic of realising something was horribly wrong before a stray killing curse hit him. His mind never even registered the fact that he was going to die and if there was one thing that would annoy him the most… it was that he never did see who it was that ended his life.

Darkness. Pain.

He couldn't focus, couldn't think. All there was was pain.

And that was all he was aware of. Consuming his every thought, every fibre of his body and mind.

An excruciating amount of pain and not just in one place. His whole body felt like it was being burned and pierced with needles and knives, blunt and sharp simultaneously, never ceasing, never dimming, if anything only increasing with time and he couldn't help it: he screamed.

At least, he tried to scream but no sound escaped, nothing could be heard and all he saw was a blank, everlasting darkness stretching out ahead of him. And he was terrified. Because nothing could have prepared him for this, nothing.

His thoughts were in a scramble, messed up. Who was he? Where was he from? What was he doing here? Was he even a he? Did he even exist?

Doubts plagued his mind. Maybe this was how it had always been? Maybe this was all there ever would be. But he just wanted it to stop.

Harry opened his eyes.

The first thing he noticed was that everything felt different. If you asked him how Harry wasn't sure he would be able to explain just what was different. Just that it was.

He was standing in a stone corridor that looked eerily similar to Hogwarts and if the school wasn't currently bone and dust Harry might've thought he was in the magic school. As it was the wizard strained his mind- searching for the faintest whisper in his memories that might give him an idea of just where he was.

The last thing he could remember was someone shouting his name in panic and then… then a flash of green, an excoriating pain, a stretch of nothingness. And then Harry realised.

He had been hit with the killing curse. Again.

Alarm and confusion rushed through him. Was he dead? Had his mind merely conjured up this last mental image of Hogwarts before he moved on to… wherever it was you went when you died.

Harry forced himself to calm down, to slow his breathing. Maybe he wasn't dead.

Coming to the conclusion that he wasn't going to get anywhere by standing still, Harry started to walk down the corridor. He instantly felt like something was wrong. If he had to describe it he might say that it felt like he was in a lucid dream, except everything felt a bit too real. But just not real enough.

Suddenly the young wizard heard the shrill chatter of voices, increasing in volume as time passed before he could hear the soft clatter of feet to go with them.

Freezing in the corridor Harry gazed both curiously and cautiously as two teenage girls rounded the corner- approaching the spot where he stood rooted to the ground.

Eyes briefly scanning them Harry could only feel baffled when he saw the Hufflepuff crest upon their robes. Robes that looked in perfect condition. Not torn, not bloodied, not covered in dirt or bits of rubble. A stark contrast to Harry's own clothes.

Was he dreaming? Was he dead? And if either of them were true then why have two random girls that he didn't know be there to greet him. Although as it turned out, 'greet' was exactly the opposite to what they did. Rather, they just ignored him, walked right past him as though he wasn't standing there covered in grime and blood and looking painstakingly out of place.

Feeling completely out of his comfort area Harry did the only thing he could think of in the current situation.

"Excuse me?"

Neither girl even paused, though Harry was sure he had said it loud enough for them to hear.

"Hello!" He said once more, this time even louder but yet again there was no response. Frustrated, Harry started walking after them briskly, reaching out a hand to tap one of them on the shoulder.

His hand never made solid contact however. Instead, it seemed to go through the witches shoulder as if it was merely air. Harry stopped, blinking a few times and staring at his hand as though it was somehow at fault.

Panic soon settled in however. What the hell had just happened? What was going on? His breathing started to quicken before he could help himself. He didn't, couldn't understand what was happening. He had been in the middle of a war. So where was he now? Hogwarts? It certainly seemed like that was the case, but at the same time the rational part of his mind refused to believe that he was somehow standing in a castle that should be debris and ashes.

Therefore the only logical explanation that Harry could come up with was what he dearly didn't want to believe was true. Yet it all added up. The green light, the darkness, Hogwarts, being incorporeal…

He was dead.

Upon that realisation Harry felt a great despair come over him. For all intent and purposes, he had failed. Despite knowing he had been willing to die, that he had to die and was willing to sacrifice himself, Harry hated not knowing what the outcome of the war was. He hated the fact that he had left Ron and Hermione. Hated the fact that he hadn't been strong enough to survive. That he hadn't been good enough.

He accepted however that he had to die and just because it wasn't Voldemort that had cast the spell… didn't mean that it didn't count.

And with the despair also came a calmness. Because for him it was over. And he could safely say that he had tried. That he had fought for what was right and been that person willing to step up and fight for what he believed in. That the soul shard inside of him had been destroyed and Voldemort could now be defeated.

Still, he couldn't help but wonder what if. What if he had made different choices? What if he had worked just a little bit harder? What if he could've survived the killing curse a second time? Would he have married Ginny? Would they have had children together? What job would he have gone into? And maybe that was where he felt the most sorrow and pain. Because of a life he might've, could've had but now never would.

A sob racked through his body before he could stop it and his frame shook almost silently. After a few minutes where he simply let himself wallow in his own self pity, Harry shook himself out of it. So he was dead, he was just going to have to accept that. But what now? What was supposed to happen?

Harry half expected the Grim Reaper to suddenly appear and take his soul or whatever it was they did. He didn't know, couldn't find it within himself to care. Rarely had Harry considered the possibility of an afterlife. Oh sure, he had never dismissed the thought- after all, if magic was real and souls existed then who was to say that there wasn't some form of life after death for those who didn't become ghosts?

Ghosts. Harry paused in his thinking. Could he be a ghost? But that wouldn't explain where he was. Nor why people couldn't see him. After all, ghosts had always been visible to them in the past.

And so here he was, standing perfectly still in an empty corridor with absolutely no clue about what the future held.

So Harry decided to explore.

The more he walked the more convinced he became that this was Hogwarts. Or, at least, some sort of representation of the castle. Because this just couldn't be the place he knew. That school had been practically destroyed: reduced to little more than ruin.

So why did everything here look so completely normal.

Eventually Harry came to a more populated part of the school and he stopped in the middle of the hallway as students crowded about. No one looked at him. No one stepped around him. For all they knew he didn't even exist and yet all Harry could do was stare at them.

They all acted so… ordinary. So completely oblivious as they chatted about trivial thoughts and meaningless subjects. It was so utterly normal and yet it all felt wrong.

This was not the life he had left behind. That life had been filled with despair, sadness and yet certain, random moments of happiness or even hope had existed. Moments you had to treasure because you never knew when the next one would come… if there would be another. You held on to those feelings, the brief passages of time that gave even the slightest slither of hope that maybe things could work out, maybe life wasn't so bad after all.

But the people around him… they were simply taking their normal, everyday life for granted- which was something he had never been able to do.

Minutes passed by where Harry simply stood there, lost in his thoughts before he was suddenly jolted out of them by a familiar if muffled voice. One he hadn't heard in over a year.

The hallway had cleared but Harry found himself slowly approaching one of the closed doors, anticipation growing and spreading throughout his veins.

So faint he couldn't make out what was being said but Harry would recognise that tone of voice anywhere, no matter how distant it sounded. And it was coming from behind that door.

He had to be sure, he just had to see.

His hand reach out slowly towards the wooden door, stretching out to touch but never making contact. Fingers slid through as if there was no barrier there, as if nothing was blocking him and so he allowed the rest of his body to follow, gliding through as if he had always been able to. On the other side what he saw only confirmed the glinting hope and yet the undeniable fear that had entered his mind the second Dumbledore's voice had reached his ears.

Because there the old man was and yet, this Dumbledore was not so old, not so grey and his eyes slid over Harry as if he couldn't see him. Because he couldn't Harry realised. Not even Dumbledore could see past whatever illusion was on him.

And suddenly Harry was even less sure of what was happening, even more confused and he felt so utterly lost in a world that he realised was not his own. Harry took a step back, and then another almost tripping over his own feet as he hurried to get out, get away because nothing made sense. His body fell through the solid door and Harry whipped his head around, emerald eyes wide and wild, darting all over the place as though he might somehow find an answer in the cracks on the ceiling or the paintings on the walls.

Taking a deep breath Harry closed his eyes, welcoming the darkness that came with the action because it allowed him to pretend, just for a moment, that the world around him wasn't there. It was though, and he couldn't hide for long. Slowly, he opened his eyes once more and stood staring, thinking. Because what was he supposed to do now? He couldn't exactly ask for advice because no one was able to listen.

Before he had fully realised that he had come up with a decision, Harry found himself in front of the main doors leading out, staring uncertainly at them.

Closing the distance Harry allowed himself to simply walk through the door, something he felt he would never get used to, before appearing on the other side. There was a pressure in his head that hadn't been there before and the further he walked from the castle, the more potent it got. He had walked no more than 5 steps before the pressure burst into pain, agony shooting through his senses causing him to collapse onto the floor, head clutched in his hands.

No matter how determined he felt, no matter how much he wanted to take that extra step, Harry realised he simply couldn't. Something was holding him here, something that he couldn't fight. And with a sickening sense of dread Harry was forced to face the fact that he was trapped.

Hogwarts, the place that had always been his home, was now his prison.