CHAPTER 1

A/N - I don't own Harry Potter. Obviously.

A Familiar Stranger.

As he climbed the mountain, his chest felt uneasy. He weaved through the rocks, his dark long hair flying over his emerald eyes, his breathing was staggered, a deep gash swung over his bearded jaw line which he had quickly patched up with his wand that was now held unnecessarily tight in his hand. His black jacket reached his thighs, blowing out in the wind; pain creased through his gut and made him double over, clasping the earth with his fingers, he shut his eyes tight. He looked down at his white shirt, stained with dirt and saturated with blood.

"Damn," he whispered, lifting it up to reveal a deep cut that stretched from his hip to his navel. He touched the blood, a voice echoing through his head,

Harry, help us, Harry! They're coming!

He shut it off, pushing the shirt down and standing on legs that refused to hold his weight. Stumbling slightly, he walked forward; he didn't know how long it had been since he had last visited here, years…

He pulled a glowing vial from his pocket, draining the contents, soothing his raw throat and numbing the pain slightly.

He ran his hands over his ribs and continued walking, but his legs gave way. He slid, clutching at loose rocks to try and keep himself steady, but they only came loose, sending him farther down the hill. His nails dug into the dry earth, slowly and painfully making him stop.

He felt his skin give a painful throb and he touched his forehead, grazed, along with the rest of him. Ignoring the pain, he stood, taking a second to balance himself, his head swam. Harry didn't remember the street being so desolate, houses clearly abandoned, torn to shreds or merely fallen down through lack of use.

His scar prickled, he pushed his palm against it. Harry walked in between numbers eleven and thirteen, the structure emerged out of no where, black from what looked like fire, windows smashed, grime covering the walls, thicker than Harry could ever remember it being.

He stopped at the doorstep; a jolt of pain went through him as the potion stopped working, he cringed, falling against the doorframe and clinging the handle for stability. He opened the door, falling immediately on his knees and leaving the trace of blood on the floor.

What was he expecting? Someone to be there? Grimmauld Place was no longer safe after the Death Eaters managed to get inside, everyone slowly left after they attacked, but it was still inhabited when Harry left… he was sure of it.

Harry stumbled into the ash-filled kitchen. The air carried the heavy smell of smoke and dust. His throat was raw and parched; he moved to the taps and turned one on as hard as he could, longing for water to pour from its opening. He cupped his hands under it hopefully but nothing came.

"Come on," he muttered. The pipes gave a defying 'thunk' sound but no water came out. Suddenly, Harry heard movement upstairs. Limping back into the room he was in before, he called out, silence came in return. His leg gave way underneath him and he called out again, louder this time.

He knew it was dangerous; it was possibly one of Voldemort's followers, he stopped, pulling himself along the ground he leant against the wall, gazing out at the staircase, every second stair broken or hollowed through. Harry gasped as another roll of pain hit him, he had massive internal injuries, he was sure of it. A bruise ran the length of his side and even when he had repaired it with his wand it jolted with pain through his ribs and up his spine when he moved. He had to try again, he had to find help, he called out, his voice cracking from disuse. A scream met his ears and he jumped in shock,

"Look what has become of the house of my father's! Look at the misuse, the scoundrels! The people coming here with flaming torches, setting it alight like it was some poor barnyard with no money! Now a dirty man coming in uninvited and waking a sophisticated lady from her sleep!" The curtains, which were now half-black, swung open and there was Sirius' mother, Harry blinked up at her, moving away so he could see the portrait more clearly as it continued to rant. Harry grit his teeth, he had no time for this,

"Shut up!" He yelled, his voice cracking, but this only caused more yelling from her part, how did she manage to survive all this time? "Is there anyone here?" He asked, her shrill voice met his ears,

"To think my traitor of a son left this house to rot –,"

"Your son is dead!" Harry yelled, seeing in his minds eye Sirius closing the curtains on his mother, his face turning to look at Harry, his eyes with the spark that left only when he died. "And I'll take down your painting and shove it in the fire if you don't stop yelling and help me."

"You can't" She replied, menace tracing her words, "there is a highly advanced spell –,"

"You would be surprised what I can do," he raised his wand. Sirius' mother's eyes bulged at him, but she did not speak,

"Where is everyone?" Harry was almost certain that with the question all he would get was an ear full of glass-breaking screams, but instead she talked, anger and frustration meeting her words, but talking all the same.

"I haven't seen anyone for years; this house was taken over by a redhead and her redhead family. They moved out and the young girl stayed for a while, then left as well… she had the same rude, fiery energy as you did." Harry felt his head spin; he closed his eyes and opened them again, trying to regain focus.

"The girl," he muttered, interrupting the woman's rant yet again, "where did she go?"

"I don't know, and I don't care," she spat childishly, staring daggers at Harry.

"Don't you know where any of them went?" The woman paused, she opened her mouth and went to yell, but Harry pointed his wand at her portrait, he had no intention of burning it, even though he knew Sirius hated it, it was something to remind Harry of his Godfather. The woman shut her mouth again with a scold,

"Upstairs," she muttered, pointing a hand out towards the broken staircase.

"Up there?" He queried, but the woman had already shut her curtains by herself. Harry stood slowly, faltering slightly, his heart beating hard in his chest, was it really that easy? He steadied himself on the banister, which luckily was still intact, although now a dark black in parts. Harry heaved himself up the staircase, the pain almost unbearable on his weak limbs.

He gazed at his hand, the index finger now a stump, he failed to remember how it happened, he remembered the pain... the blood flowing down his arm as he clutched it, a Death Eater laughing in his ear, he was eighteen at the time… how old was he now? Time passed, you forgot what day it was, what year it was, it all just melted together, one day trying to survive after the other. Harry was a lucky one, though he didn't feel that way.

There was movement in a room down the hallway; Harry moved towards it, his heart beating harder in his chest, his breath short. He stopped just before the doorway, and made a fist around his wand, then walked in.

Immediately a curse flew at him, he ducked it just in time; it hit the back wall, spraying plaster over the already dusted room. He grabbed for his wand but felt his legs give way underneath him, making him land face-down on the floor. He made another reach for his wand but something holding him down and stopping movement,

"I wouldn't move if I were you," the person muttered under his breathe, the deep voice was not one Harry could recognise. The ground was cold and dusty beneath his cheek.

"Who are you?!" Harry choked out, the weight on his back getting ever-heavier, he reached again for his wand, his fingertips brushed it. He should have been more prepared for a fight. He reached for the sword he kept in his belt, clasping the cold metal with his fingers.

"I should be asking you the same question," the man muttered. "Are you a friend or foe?" He asked suspiciously, Harry felt him walk around him, his boots heavy on the wooden floors.

"Depends," Harry said, seeing a hand come down and grasp his wand. The weight was released off his back. Harry pushed himself up on his hands then stood, brushing the dust from his jacket, one hand still on the swords hilt. He looked at the man; his eyes were calm and sprightly, a spark coming from them which didn't match the rest of the sad face.

A scar ran over the man's eye, and red hair was pulled back into a pony-tail and he had stubble covering his chin and upper lip. Harry was sure that the man must have been in his mid to late twenties, they looked each other up and down.

"Are you one of Voldemort's followers?" Asked Harry; noting the man's black robes and cape. The man tensed his jaw, sensing suspicion,

"What if I am?"

"I'm in no condition to fight," Harry muttered. It was a bold move, if it was Voldemort's followers, then attack could come right then and there. The man shook his head, still eyeing Harry up and down.

"No. Are you?" Harry ran his hand over his scar, which was covered by his jet-black filthy hair.

"No, no, definitely not." The man, still hesitating, extended his hand chivalrously to Harry.

"Then I apologise for the attack," Harry shook his head, grasping his hand,

"I would have done the same," Harry caught the man staring at his lost finger before he let go and lifted a box from the ground, pulling it to his shoulder and timidly handed Harry the wand, keeping his own ready in case.

"It's George by the way," he said, as Harry pocketed the wand. "George Weasley." Harry's breathe caught in his throat, searching the man's face for a lie. He frowned back,

"George Weasley?" Harry questioned, the man nodded suspiciously. Harry swallowed past the constriction in his throat,

"Why… do you know me?" Harry felt panic rising in his chest,

"The name rings a bell," Harry muttered, George frowned slightly but then nodded,

"Maybe you'll know where from later huh?"

"Yeah… I guess I will." George smirked and Harry saw the teenager smiling behind his new exterior.

"You never said your name," he said, walking from the room, Harry felt the tension diminish from George's words and felt himself relax.

"Didn't say it." Harry muttered,

"You actually look familiar… in a weird way." George said with a frown, again surveying Harry.

"Oh, yeah?" Said Harry, trying to remain calm, "like who?"

"…you wouldn't believe me if I told you," he replied, Harry breathed out, staring out of the murky window into the suburbia below, a jolt of pain ran through him and he clutched his side as inconspicuously as possible, when it passed he looked up at George.

"Try me."

It'll get more interesting I assure you. :)

I edited the original somewhat – I've decided to make it as true as possible to the last Harry Potter book (excluding the epilogue obviously)

Let me know what you think thus far!

Pheonixxsong