AN: This story is set in an alternate universe, branching from canon after Harry's sacrifice in the Forbidden Forest. It starts as Harry's visit with Dumbledore ends.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is the work of JK Rowling. No profit is being made from this.

Prologue

The Creature behind them jerked and moaned, and Harry and Dumbledore sat without talking for the longest time yet. The realization of what would happen next gradually settled over Harry in the long minutes, like softly falling snow.

"I've got to go back, haven't I?"

"That is up to you."

"I've got a choice?"

"Oh yes." Dumbledore smiled at him. "We are in King's Cross, you say? I think that if you decided not to go back, you would be able to… let's say… board a train."

"And where would it take me?"

"On," said Dumbledore simply.

Silence again.

"Voldemort's got the Elder Wand."

"True. Voldemort has the Elder Wand."

"But you want me to go back?"

"I think," said Dumbledore, "that if you choose to return, there is a chance that he may be finished for good. I cannot promise it. But I know this, Harry, that you have less to fear from returning here than he does."

Harry glanced again at the raw-looking thing that trembled and choked in the shadow beneath the distant chair.

"Do not pity the dead, Harry. Pity the living, and, above all, those who live without love. By returning, you may ensure that fewer souls are maimed, fewer families are torn apart. If that seems to you a worthy goal, then we say good-bye for the present."

Harry nodded and sighed. Leaving this place would not be nearly as hard as walking into the forest had been, but it was warm and light and peaceful here, and he knew that he was heading back to pain and the fear of more loss. He stood up, and Dumbledore did the same, and they looked for a long moment into each other's faces.

"Tell me one last thing," said Harry. "Is this real? Or has this been happening inside my head?"

Dumbledore beamed at him, and his voice sounded loud and strong in Harry's ears even though the bright mist was descending again, obscuring his figure.

"Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?"

Chapter One: Home?

Harry groaned deeply, his head was pounding. He opened his eyes slowly, anxious to find where he was. His glasses hung limply from the side of his head, the lenses cracked. He could barely make out dark shapes against a gray sky. He sat up a little too quickly, and was rewarded with a sharp stab of pain through his head.

Everything was deathly silent around him, and the air had a burning, smoky quality to it. Harry pulled out the hawthorn wand and tapped it to his broken glasses muttering reparo. He pushed the frames up his nose and gasped at the sight that met him.

He was in a darkened alley, tall buildings on either side. The sky was gray and ash fell softly all around him. There was not a soul in sight. He got up slowly, his body ached terribly, and his brain was whirring, hopelessly trying to decipher his surroundings.

He walked forward cautiously, wand out, listening for any sound. As he proceeded out of the alley and into the main thoroughfare he couldn't believe his eyes.

He was in Tottenham Court Road, or rather what was left of it. Buildings were in ruins, some had collapsed in upon themselves, others were gone completely. Dirt and ash and refuse littered the street. The air stank of death and sewage. There was a massive crater in the center of the road. How had this happened? How had he ended up in London? Where were all the people?

Thoughts were racing through Harry's mind, questions that he could not find answers to. He had been at Hogwarts, he had gone into the forest to sacrifice himself and destroy the horcrux within him. He had spoken with Dumbledore, had learned the truth from the old headmaster himself. He had chosen to go back, to fight. So how had he ended up in this post-apocalyptic version of London?

Harry rubbed his temples, trying to discern what had happened. It looked as though there had been some sort of a battle here. But it's echoes seemed distant. The dark bloodstains on the pavement were dry, and though ash still fell from the darkened sky, the rest of the debris had settled and a thick layer of dust and grime coated everything.

Suddenly a scream pierced the air and Harry's thoughts. He turned towards the source as another wail of despair floated out of the dark shadows. It was the cry of a child, and it sounded as though whoever it was, was in pain. Harry rushed forward seeking the place from whence the terrified voice had issued. He rounded the corner into another desolate street and found a most disturbing sight. Six Death Eaters, clad in their standard black robes and skull masks stood in a circle, laughing and jeering at the form of a young girl laying in the street.

She was curled up in the fetal position, sobbing, her whole body heaving in fright. The Death Eaters obviously found this particularly funny. A big burly bloke turned to his compatriot.

"How's about we use Cruciatus on this filthy little tyke?"

His friend chuckled darkly which encouraged another round of guffaws from the other men.

Harry saw red. This was just a child! How could they be so callous? Without thinking, he rushed forward pointing Draco's wand at the large Death Eater.

"REDUCTO!" Harry bellowed, his anger boiling in him. The big Death Eater and the two on either side of him were blown back, their robes smoking, into the side of a building. They did not get up. The other three death Eaters stared at their friends in shock. This gave Harry time to say 'stupefy', and yet another of his foes was out of the battle.

"It's Harry Potter!" screamed one of the two who were left standing.

They both turned quickly on the spot and disapparated, leaving their fallen numbers behind.

Harry rushed to the little girl who was still crying softly.

"Hey, hey it's alright. They're gone now. They won't hurt you.

The child raised her head slowly. Tears brimmed in her big blue eyes and there was dirt in her bushy brown hair. There was something deeply familiar about this girl, but before he could figure out what it was, she threw herself at him and held on tightly.

"T-thank you," she hiccupped. "Thank you."

Harry smiled at her. "What's your name?"

"I'm Rosie,"

"That's a pretty name. Where are your parents?"

"They're at home. I was with my aunt, but I.. we got separated. And then….."

Harry understood. The Death Eaters had found her alone and thought she was an easy target.

"Well, what say we find your aunt?"

Rosie shook her head. "There might be more of them out here. We have to get somewhere safe."

Harry looked at her in shock. She couldn't be more than eight or nine years old, yet she spoke as though she understood the danger of these streets better, perhaps, than Harry did.

"Okay. Right then, we'll go somewhere safe. Why don't we go to your house and get you back to your parents?"

Rosie nodded quickly and started moving towards the center of town. She took a few steps then turned and held out her hand. There was still a look of fear in her eyes. Harry stepped up to her and clasped her small hand in his own. He felt protective towards little Rosie. There was something about her, and he felt a deep connection to her.

"Lead the way."

She smiled up at him and began walking. Harry shortened his stride so as to not overtake her. They walked for awhile, always heading towards downtown. Rosie chatted amiably the whole way. She seemed to have gotten over the shock of her attack. The further they walked, the darker the sky became. Rosie shivered and Harry felt an unnatural cold seep through him. Dementors. Rosie sped up and became quiet. Harry held the wand in his open hand, trying to keep happy memories in his mind, just in case.

A patronus was not needed, however, as they soon entered a dilapidated department store. The glass windows on the storefront had long been blown out and the debris that littered the streets had found it's way inside. Clothing racks had been scattered and knocked down and there were deep gouge marks in the wall.

Harry wondered again what had happened. London looked like a demilitarized zone. He needed to get back to Hogwarts. Voldemort's forces were bound to have stormed the castle again. But he had to make sure Rosie got home safe. As soon as he dropped her off to her parents he would apparate to Hogsmeade. He had to get back to his friends. He had to get back and fight Voldemort.

Rosie led him past broken mannequins and turned over cash registers. They moved towards the loo.

"Do you need to make a pit stop?" he asked Rosie as they came to the restroom where the door had been blasted off it's hinges.

She gave him a dithering look that reminded him of Hermione when he asked a question she felt he should know the answer to. Harry felt a rush of worry for his friends and again thoughts of returning to the battle came to him.

Rosie let go of his hand and moved into the restroom. Harry hung back, unsure. He didn't want to follow the child while she used the facilities. She returned almost immediately.

"Aren't you coming?"

"I'll wait here."

"But I want you to meet my mum and dad, besides, it's not safe out here."

She came back and took hold of Harry's hand again, leading him in. The loo smelt faintly of old excrement, it's potency faded with time, and the floor and walls were coated in a dried dark substance whose origin Harry didn't want to guess at. The mirrors were long gone and the sinks were cracked and pulled completely away from their piping in the wall. Many of the stalls were smashed and lay in crumbled heaps. Again Harry wondered what had happened here.

Rosie lead him to one of the few stalls that was still standing. She pushed aside the door that hung limply from one hinge and stepped right up to the toilet. She let go of Harry's hand and bent low over the bowl. Harry thought that perhaps she was about to be sick.

But instead she spoke into the toilet, "Magnum Opus," and flushed the handle.

There was no water in the tank, yet still there was a loud whooshing sound. The ground began to shake and the wall and floor behind the toilet started to separate. The toilet itself sank into the floor and a large opening spread towards Harry and Rosie's feet. A sudden flash of memory from Harry's second year at Hogwarts came to his mind. This toilet portal was strikingly similar to the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. Harry tried to stop Rosie, but it was too late. She had jumped into the hole.

Harry didn't think twice. He jumped in after her. The portal closed above his head as he slid down a man-sized pipe. This one was much cleaner than the one that lead to the Chamber, but Harry was still worried about what would greet him at the bottom.

The pipe twisted and turned and Harry tried to guess at how long this slide was by how long it was taking him to reach the end. He gave up after the seventh turn and instead focused on preparing for whatever lay in wait.

A blast of fresh air hit him in the face and he rolled into a fighting stance as he came out of the tunnel. As he rose up from his knees he found a well worn wand tip in his face.

"Who the bloody-hell are you?"

Harry's mouth fell open in shock.

Ron was standing before him, but it was not the Ron he knew. No, this Ron was older, and haggard. No smile behind his eyes. Anger was evident in his features as he stared Harry down. Behind him stood Hermione, but like Ron she was not the same. Distrusting eyes glared at him even as she held onto Rosie.

"But mum, he saved me-"

"Who are you?" Ron asked again. And Harry shivered at the deadly whisper in his friend's voice.

"Ron, it's.. it's me, Harry…"

"Harry Potter died ten years ago. Do not lie to me."

Harry felt as though he had been slapped.

"No, no…. I came back. Dumbledore said I could come back…."

He was talking to himself, but also begging them to understand. How could this have happened? Dumbledore told him to come back and fight Voldemort.

Ron poked his wand into Harry's chest.

"I asked you a question. Who the hell are you?"

"Ron…. Ron, maybe…"

Hermione came forward and looked into Harry's eyes. He couldn't say anything. He didn't know what to say. How could things have gone so wrong? Ten years? But he hadn't aged at all.

"Cast a patronus."

Harry was caught off guard.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Cast a patronus," Hermione repeated.

Harry pulled out Draco's wand and pushed his confusion aside. He tried to focus on Ron and Hermione, but all he could see were their fear filled eyes. Haunted and tortured after ten years. He closed his eyes and thought of Ginny. He thought of her long red hair.

"Expecto Patronum!"

The silver stag burst from the tip of the hawthorn wand and Hermione threw herself at him. She was sobbing and he could barely breathe in her embrace. Ron dropped his wand and tears filled his eyes as well.

"How?" Was all he could utter.

"That's what I'd like to know."

Harry turned, and there was Ginny. Standing in the entrance to the pipe, a hard look on her face.

Harry didn't know how to answer.